


Nova

by Curt_Kenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, AU - Jedi Apprentice, AU - Prequel Trilogy, Action/Adventure, Angst, Emotions are Complicated, Epic, F/M, Gen, M/M, Obi-Wan's backstory, Romance, Work In Stasis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curt_Kenobi/pseuds/Curt_Kenobi
Summary: Obi-Wan has secrets hidden in his past, and complications in his present. But what you hide will eventually catch you...and those around you.[WiP; I wrote this like 10 years ago and am working on re-reading and continuing it. Uploading without detailed chap notes atm. Mainly just moving it to here with the rest of my works right now]





	1. Part One [Complicated Relations]: Up from the Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> most of this is from like ten years ago >.>

**  
** Part One: _Complicated Relations_  


\-----------------------------

Anakin Skywalker knew Obi-Wan Kenobi better than anyone, inside and out. And though the older man often frustrated him, he loved him. He always had.

__

\---I---f-e-e-l---a---p-a-r-t---o-f---m-e---I---h-a-v-e---t-o---f-i-g-h-t---

**Chapter One: _Up From the Shattered..._**

_** 12 Years Ago ** _

He was just a little boy, lost and out of place, stuck in a strange new world (been to a couple, actually) far different from his own. He had been placed with a responsibility that he did not quite grasp, but understood the gravity of. He was -- supposedly -- the "Chosen One". Chosen to bring balance to the Force. And while he was supposed to be something of a saviour to the Jedi, no one trusted him. The mighty Jedi Council made it clear that they did not -- but that was mutual; he neither liked nor trusted them, either. The only one who had believed in him here had been Master Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn had been the man who had found him, taken him away from the slave's life he had led -- taken him away from his mother, whom he'd dearly loved...the man who had been like an anchor for him in this new arena.

He was now dead.

The only person Anakin Skywalker could look to was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Anakin was in awe of Obi-Wan. But he also felt bad for him. Like Anakin himself, a good deal of things were quickly being thrown upon Obi-Wan. There he was: the Sith Killer, suddenly a new Knight. His master who had been like a father to him for the past twelve years was dead -- had died in his arms. And then there was Anakin to consider into it all: the little boy who had seemingly usurped his place in Qui-Gon Jinn's heart. The boy whom Qui-Gon's dying wish had been for his apprentice to train. A small child, a former slave. Mopheaded and forlorn with nowhere to go. Obi-Wan, despite his own reservations, would abide by his loyal, honourable nature: He would train the boy, as his Master had wished, and he would debate with Yoda until the venerable master conceded the Council would allow it.

It had taken Anakin by surprise when he had heard those words: _"The Council has granted me permission to train you."_ They had been standing, watching Qui-Gon's body burn upon his funeral pyre. Anakin had been wrapped up in his own sorrow and insecurities. His mind was reeling, the two loudest questions it asked being: _Why Qui-Gon?_ and _What will happen to me now?_ The latter continued, repeating in a monotonous chant. Finally he had posed it to Obi-Wan. His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears as the question passed his lips. He couldn't imagine what the Knight -- what _Obi-Wan_ thought of him.

But Obi-Wan had replied in a soft, surprisingly smooth, compassionate voice. The rich accent he had that kind of reminded Anakin of his mother's voice. Anakin felt his heart lift despite his sorrow. There was hope for him after all.

And now before the banquet Her Highness was having before the Grand Celebration, Anakin was being turned into a Jedi apprentice.

"Master Obi-Wan?" Anakin called hesitantly as he emerged from the 'fresher, his new robes donned. They felt good, not as rough-hewn as the ones he had worn before, the ones his mother had made for him. He held his necklace with its many strands of beads in a tight fist. His mother had also crafted that for him. He'd worn it for as long as he could remember and was not keen on the idea of parting with it. He stuffed it into a utility pouch on his belt before Obi-Wan turned round.

Anakin noticed that Obi-Wan jumped a little at his speaking. He also noted that Obi-Wan had been worrying with his padawan braid -- evidently he thought he had dropped his hand away quick enough and before he turned so that it would not be noticed. Anakin gave no indication of knowing though, far more interested in a sign of approval. Obi-Wan flashed him a brief, wan smile that did not reach his bruised eyes. Fair enough, Anakin supposed.

"Do I have to have my hair cut like yours?" Anakin asked. "Do I get a braid, too?"

The boy's enthusiasm was endearing...but slightly annoying as well. Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to escape to the Gardens, or to curl up in his bed here and just...sleep. But he knew he must function, must humour everyone -- especially his new Padawan. Gods! -- how that still unnerved him. His loss of Qui-Gon was a raw wound, and every time he realised that he himself was now a Master...somehow it felt like salt ground into that wound.

"Yes, Anakin. You will," he replied, trying to not sound as weary as he felt.

Anakin's eyes lit up. "Wizard!" His face was aglow with dreamlike amazement. He met Obi-Wan's eyes. "I'm a Jedi. I'm actually going to be a Jedi."

Obi-Wan was almost -- _almost_ \-- shocked by how he seethed internally at the boy's words. _Oh, yes, Boy. My Master_ died _so you could be a Jedi. And I got stuck with you. It's all bloody about_ you. _And I hate you for it._

He quickly shut the thought away. He dreaded when he and the boy would form a Master/Padawan bond, a mental link between them. It would happen quite soon, though.

"Come on," Obi-Wan instucted. "Let's give you that haircut and your braid." Anakin ran over to a footstool and sat down while Obi-Wan got together the needed implements.

After being told, "Stop fidgetting," several times, Anakin finally stilled and almost fell asleep as Obi-Wan cut his hair. He jerked to attention when Obi-Wan tightened up his ponytail at the crown of his head.

"Ouch!" he yelped.

"Sorry."

Anakin made a face, still a bit put-out, though Obi-Wan did not see it as he was still behind the boy. Obi-Wan fingered the length of hair left for Anakin's braid. It was short. Quite short. But even if it had been a more preferrable length, it would not have prevented the inevitable. Obi-Wan placed the cutting shears off to the side and picked up the small vibroblade he had also gathered. He pressed it into Anakin's hand as he came round before the boy and knelt.

Anakin stared at the blade in disbelief and confusion. "Master Obi-Wan?" Again, that almost imperceptible flinch, but the dark grey-glazed blue eyes met his.

"It's your first important duty as my Padawan. Usually the Master has the honour of severing his or her apprentice's braid in a ceremony...but as I no longer have a Master, but do have a Padawan, I am allowing you the honour," Obi-Wan said. His tone was almost off-hand, non-chalant, but nevertheless, Anakin's big, bright blue eyes widened impossibly in awe.

_"Really?"_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the tears that stung them, threatening to well. He drew in a breath. "Yes, Anakin. Really. Now."

Anakin gently lifted the thin copper plait, letting it dangle over his palm. This was going to be hard -- he would have to cut left-handed. But he would not botch it. He swore that to himself. He would not botch it, for this was far too important.

As he grabbed the plait closer to the base, it struck Anakin to be amazed by Obi-Wan's hair. It was really rather soft, silky. And the colour was like suns' set on Tatooine. Anakin had had a redheaded "friend" of sorts back home (he was more of an antagonist than friend) but Obi-Wan's hair was not really red. It was red and blond and brown, a unique shade unto itself. All those colours and yet its own.  
Anakin slipped the blade beneath the braid and cut up, pulling to the side. A small strand held steadfastly and Anakin severed it, nicking Obi-Wan's ear, though he didn't know he had. All Obi-Wan did was since slightly, accepting the pain, rather finding it inconvienant, but comforting. Deserved.

Anakin looked at the braid in awe for a moment before he started to give it back to Obi-Wan.

_"No."_

The sharpness of the one word cut through Anakin as surely as a lightsabre would have. "I --" he began to stammer. Obi-Wan shook his head.

"I've no need for it. Do what you will with it."

"Y--Yes, sir."

Obi-Wan took the vibroblade back and cut down his ponytail so it was in length with the rest of his hair. He looked at the length he'd severed, frowning a bit. And then he set to fashioning Anakin a padawan braid, weaving his own hair in so that Anakin's braid, instead of stopping just past his jawline, actually brushed his shoulder.

When it was finished, Anakin ran his fingers along the plait, his eyes huge. He started to give Obi-Wan a hug, but the Knight pulled away. Anakin didn't mind. He was ecstatic that he was actually going to be a Jedi. "Thank you, Master Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan only nodded curtly, getting to his feet. "Wash up before the banquet, Anakin. Before we go, there will be one more thing. Then you'll have become a proper apprentice."

"Yes, Master!" The boy scurried off, and Obi-Wan headed for the balcony. He pressed against the railing hard, the stone unyielding. And he couldn't help the tears that began to fall from the corners of his eyes. He could only close his eyes against them and hope the wind carried them away.

\-----------------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from "Who I Am" by Smile Empty Soul.)_


	2. Part One: Forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The background of Obi-Wan's secrets.

_\---s-c-h-i-z-o---S-a-v-i-o-u-r--/--m-y---M-e-s-s-i-a-h---  
\--f-a-t-a-l---w-o-r-s-h-i-p--/--y-o-u---i-n-s-p-i-r-e-d---_

**Chapter Two: _Forbidden_**

19 Years Ago

A holiday. He was being granted a holiday, on his own.

"Your last mission was unforeseeably difficult, Little One," Qui-Gon had said to him, looking down at him as he lay on the sofa of their apartment's common room. At least the sofa was a change from the medibed he had been on in the Healers' Ward. He was still mending from the dislocated shoulder, broken arms and various multiple gashes and lacerations he had acquired on his last mission -- his second solo. Despite his injuries and how easily "utter disaster" could have been the heading of it, Obi-Wan had completed his mission successfully, with he being the only seriously injured party.

"Just a bit of a challenge," Obi-Wan responded dryly.

"At least your humour is intact," Qui-Gon said with a small smile, running a hand though Obi-Wan's hair in a rare gesture of affection. His eyes were dark, though, for Qui-Gon knew that if his padawan was steps from death, he would still have a dry, witty remark left. He sat down beside the boy -- man, now, just about. He was just-turned eighteen now.

"So where will you be off to, Padawan?"

"Avindal." The word passed Obi-Wan's lips before thought. It had taken a vast, tiring amount of research, but just last year, Obi-Wan had found his homeworld. Back when he had been a Youngling, he had visited his family once. At that time, they had been on Naboo. Not long after, all trace of them had been lost. But Kenobi was an ancestral name on the planet Avindal. For so long Obi-Wan had wanted to see where he was from -- even more strong of late had the longing been since he had a set destination. And now he had his chance.

Three days later, he was there.

Avindal was a beautiful planet, not much unlike Naboo. Obi-Wan figured that was perhaps why his family had ended up on the latter planet. His past before the Jedi Temple was quite sketchy, and no one could tell him any real, definite facts about it. As soon as Obi-Wan stepped off the transport, though, and onto land, he felt the utter _rightness_...and something else. Like an electric charge, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck prick up. But it was fleeting and he shook it off.

As he made his way to the inn he would be staying at – the Sleeping Draigon – Obi-Wan could feel the natives eyes upon him. Obi-Wan wondered what it was. Maybe it was just because he was a Jedi – Avindal was peaceful; he didn’t expect that they saw a lot of his kind. But he was in civilian clothing, so there really wasn’t anything distinguishing about him. It finally struck him as he was checking into the inn that he was exceptionally fair-coloured, even among these people. Perhaps that was it. But he knew this was _home._

After taking the card to get into his room, Obi-Wan retired immediately to it. He dumped his pack beside the bed and flopped out across it. The window was thrown open and a fragrant breeze wafted in, caressing his face tenderly, like a welcome back. With that, he drifted to sleep for a nap.

He had an odd, disturbing dream in the brief time he was asleep. When he struggled up to wakefulness he could not remember any of it, save for rippling blackness. It was eerily familiar – like a memory more so than a nightmare. He splashed cold water over his face, the chill shock and a twinge of pain through his still-healing shoulder clearing his mind.

“Gah…” he groaned, gingerly massaging his tender left shoulder. He dressed and headed out. The weather was comfortable and cool. Another fresh breeze blew softly through the land. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The land was green and the sky a calming light blue-grey. It was heaven. He almost expected to see an Angel at any moment.

He followed his feet, letting them lead him where they would. He ended up far from the town, out in the large forest that encircled it. He came upon a river and followed the winding waterway. What it led him to was breathtaking: a majestic, high waterfall, waters cascading over the lip of a cliff at the edge of the forest. Obi-Wan sat down upon a rock at the edge of the vast pool at the foot of the fall. He leaned forward, skimming the water with the hand of his uninjured arm. The crystalline water was perfectly temperate, and Obi-Wan could swear that when he drew his hand away, the sweet tingle the water gave faded, but a faint luminescence remained.

"What is this?" he wondered aloud, as he twisted his hand before his face. Curious, Obi-Wan stripped off his tunics and shed his leggings and boots -- although, with characteristic neatness, he folded his clothing and placed them upon the rock which he'd sat -- and dove into the pool.

A glorious exhilaration washed over him. Everything felt so...blissfully _right_. No worries -- not about his relationship with Qui-Gon, or the problems in the galaxy. No pain. Just...a bright burst of perfection.

Obi-Wan lay on his back, his pale skin shimmering with a faint iridescence, and floated, his eyes closed and the sun gently warming him. From the shadows, someone watched. The overwhelming bliss and perfection of this place helped the lurker's presence go unnoticed. But with the sheer beauty laid before the silent watcher -- not just the environmental scenery, but the person within it -- motivated the shadowed observer to come forward.

The young Jedi was drifting near the edge of the pool. With a soft _swoosh_ of flowing black shimmersilk robes, the lurker knelt.

"Ah, brat. You are indeed a vision to behold."

Obi-Wan flew up into a vertical position so fast that he went under for a moment. He resurfaced, sputtering, shaking his head to clear the water from his eyes.

_That voice -- he knew that voice... It had been in his nightmare -- his memory. Who was it? It was not a voice easily mistaken. So silky, so regal, so sexual..._

"Brat."

"You!" Obi-Wan yelled as his eyes, a stormy grey, focused and narrowed upon the last person in the galaxy he thought he would ever meet again. That porcelain skin and aristocratic face. The raised scar of a broken circle that marred one cheek.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" A white, preditorial smile flashed, and Xanatos tossed his head, shaking silken black waves from his face.

"You should be glad I'm in the water."

 _Oh, but aren't I?_ "So I did get a compliment from the good little padawan? Jinn hasn't let you loose yet? Pity shame. I'd love to claim you."

"Back off, deCrion."

Xanatos mock-winced. "Oh, so formal and cold, Young One. I thought we were on better terms." Xanatos unclipped the silver brooch that held his cape swept closed. Obi-Wan couldn't help but stare as the fabric slid all too sensually from the older man's shoulders. He brought his eyes back up to meet the dark, glittering sapphire of deCrion's.

"I thought you were dead," Obi-Wan said, trying to keep the steel and cold in his voice. Evidently, it worked, for Xanatos made no note of a falter. But just because the fallen Jedi didn't mention it, did not mean he didn't know it existed. Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists.

"Obi-Wan --"

"Don't use my name; we're far from friends."

"Ah, but keep your enemies closer, Young One." Again, that smile. So sure. _I know I know more than you, child. And I can talk you into a corner with ease,_ it said. Obi-Wan could feel his cheeks flush. _No! Not him._ Xanatos was everything he stood against -- why was his master's fallen former apprentice affecting him so?

"I would never kill myself, Young One. Not even to escape the great Qui-Gon Jinn. How low that would be. That would have still been allowing him the win. But I would let him believe that I had done so, for that leaves my death on his soul. He knows he forced me to it. Not that I quite believe he would even care.

"But what you two didn't realise was that was one of the few non-acidic pools, the water just dyed black. Ingenious? No. Just practical. So here I am. And how have you fared, Kenobi? Still a good little Jedi. Still bowing and kowtowing, obeying the mighty Council and Jinn and their every wish and command." It was not a question, it was a statement.

"I'm not a coward like you, deCrion. I won't leave my calling just because I can't take fighting against the evil in the galaxy."

At that, the gemlike blue eyes got so very cold. Obi-Wan felt a slight thrill of fear. If deCrion so wanted, the man could kill him right now. He could feel the Dark energy gathered to the man, but nothing had happened insofar. "He killed my father in front of me, Young One. What would you have done?"

"I would have realised that my father was on the wrong side. That he deserved whatever befell him."

"So easily you say the words, Prince. And so little you know."

The change in endearment struck him as odd -- for it was said more as a title. But Obi-Wan pushed forward. "Then tell me, deCrion. What don't I know?" It was a flaw, his quickness to taunt when struck at.

"You could have this," Xanatos said, looking up and around and then back to Obi-Wan, noting the confusion in the boy's beautiful, everchanging sea-coloured eyes. "All this. But yet you know none of it, because of the Jedi. You could live the life you want --"

"The life of a Jedi is all I have ever wanted. It is a life of servitude, but it's for the greater good of the galaxy. I _help_ people. I don't destroy them like you."

"One must make a living." Xanatos shrugged. "You're far too indoctrinated by them." The Dark Jedi stood.

"What are you doing?" Obi-Wan asked as Xanatos toed off his ankle-high boots.

"What does it look like, brat?" Before the young Jedi could answer, Xanatos had dove into the water, still clothed. He surfaced, close to Obi-Wan, shaking back his hair. Thick strands stubbornly clung to the side of his face.

Obi-Wan pushed himself back in the water. "What do you want?"

"Don't tell me that the Jedi have made you dense as well."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but found himself unable to form the words. The answer was quite clear. And he did not know how at all to handle it.

A slow, self-satisfied smirk spread across Xanatos' face. "So you realise the answer?"

"I won't consent." But Xanatos saw the doubt in his eyes, and knew he had his prize.

"In the end you will. Oh, but you will."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Damn that purr, that rich, deep timbre of deCrion's voice. It made him shiver.

"Obi--!"

The sharp cry startled the young Jedi, but the next thing he knew, he was being forced underwater.

\------------------------------------

He thought he felt an odd sensation upon his mouth...but the urge to retch overtook him, and he was forcing out copious amounts of water. Steadying hands supported his head as he turned to the side and retched. He fell back limply into someone's embrace. He was exhausted. And cold. His mind was hazed...thick with a cleaving pain. A soothing hand smoothed his hair.

"Master?"

Xanatos bit his lip. "No," he ground out, grudgingly.

Obi-Wan's head was clearing, the haze at least. He blinked, his eyes focusing as the warm, solid body held him closer. Everything came back. With a cry, Obi-Wan shoved against deCrion, rolling out of the fallen Jedi's grasp and jumping to his feet. But the floor of the cave behind the waterfall was slick, and no sooner had he gotten to his feet, than they were flying out from under him.

Xanatos caught him through the Force, catching him before he cracked his head on a jagged rock. The Dark Jedi brought Obi-Wan to stand upright, but held him immobile as he stalked over. In a sudden, short burst of anger, he grabbed Obi-Wan by the shoulders and shoved him back against the cave wall. Obi-Wan winced as sharp pieces of rock scratched and pierced his skin.

Obi-Wan met deCrion's eyes, which blazed like the hottest part of a flame. In Obi-Wan's eyes, Xanatos saw the flare of pain, and the flicker of brief surprise. The latter was soon taken over by a knowing expression -- an "I expected no less from you" look. The hurt that twisted in his gut when he saw that reproving look shocked Xanatos. He covered his fear with another surge of anger and decided it didn't matter _what_ the boy thought.

The fierce, violent kiss Xanatos gave Obi-Wan took his breath away at first. And then deCrion's elegant, long-fingered hand was snaking up from where it had held his shoulder, looping Obi-Wan's long padawan braid about his fist. Xanatos jerked it smartly and Obi-Wan gasped. In that space of time, Xanatos seized the opportunity and was expertly plundering the young Jedi's mouth.

Obi-Wan became all too acutely aware of his situation. DeCrion's arousal was evident. Obi-Wan could feel it against his stomach, where it was a bulge in the fallen Jedi's shimmersilk leggings. And Obi-Wan was all too aware of how utterly naked he was.

And of how badly he wanted this. 

There was something...consuming about this. About Xanatos. There was far more of a charge than anything he and Garen had done, far more of a...of a rush. And he wanted to be swept away, threat of danger and Dark and all.

He could feel Xanatos at his mind, wanting to gain entry. No. Obi-Wan raised his shields tighter. As much as he might want it, even on more than a base level, he knew he was still a Jedi and this simply _could not_ be.

Xanatos felt Obi-Wan further block him and growled, biting the young Jedi's lip. He kissed down the column of the boy's throat as his free hand skimmed down Obi-Wan's chest, fingers lightly ghosting over the smattering of light auburn hair and then lower.

The electric jolt that deCrion's hand on his cock sent through him completely shattered all of Obi-Wan's concentration. And taking that opportunity as well, deCrion was in Obi-Wan's mind. And a bond was forged.

 _Don't deny it,_ Xanatos thought, and Obi-Wan, for one moment, didn't want to. But, no. This. This wasn't right.

 _Deny what?_ he shot back at Xanatos. The Dark Jedi did not fail to notice that Kenobi did not shut off his end of the bond. He smiled, like a nexu coming upon its prey.

_That you want this._

_And what do_ you _want, deCrion?_ He expected some planned scheme, some new way of hurting Qui-Gon through him, with just having his former Master's new apprentice as an added bonus. Force knew that was what motivated him.

Xanatos left a sucking biting on Obi-Wan's neck, one that made the boy gasp and writhe, just a bit. And then he brought his head back up, meeting Obi-Wan's greyish blue-green eyes squarely. Obi-Wan shivered. There was something more here.

" _You_ ," Xanatos said and sent, voice soft and husky, but fierce. He leaned forward, kissing Obi-Wan surprisingly tenderly, and completely thoroughly.

It was more than Obi-Wan had ever expected from Xanatos deCrion. And he knew -- he could feel that it was true. And honestly, it scared him. Because he was glad that he wasn't just a part in some plan, that someone as...captivating as deCrion actually wanted _him >_. He was scared because he knew he wanted this, and he shouldn't.

_Don't deny yourself for their foolish Code._

"I -- I'm not..." His voice caught as Xanatos moved his hand upon him, and his eyes fell half-closed. _It's just you. You're...you're the problem in all of this._

"Because I'm 'bad', Young One?" His voice was so seductive, and his breath hot in Obi-Wan's ear.

_Yes._

Don't you ever dream of playing on the wrong side, just for a spell?

N -- no.But he had. Oh, but he had. Innocently, as in just going against some rules, and more seriously, as in dancing on the Dark side. And if the Dark had deCrion, that wasn't so bad of a perk... _No._ What -- well, that answer was clear. The Dark Jedi wanted him, and effectively had him.

 _Just to be with me doesn't mean you have to turn yourself._ Xanatos would rather that Obi-Wan did, especially with all that power that he had. But he knew that good was innate in Kenobi, and as tempted as he might ever be, he'd rather die than choose a Darker path.

"I -- I can't. This -- this... _ah_...Force. This can't -- I shouldn't. And I --" Obi-Wan was getting swept away in sensation, thought hard to find coherently.

But Xanatos understood too well. His anger flared, and he was for a moment ready to take what he wanted, whether the boy agreed or not. But what he had said was true. He did want Obi-Wan Kenobi. He did love him. And he would not wish to further tarnish how the boy already viewed him.

_Then let me have just this. Just today._

I --

Say yes.

There was a long silence as Obi-Wan came with a heady moan, hands clenching in Xanatos' long black hair, Xanatos biting his shoulder to silence his own whimper at the pure, exquisite pleasure he felt coming from the boy.

_Oh, Force..._

And Xanatos was taking that as a yes.

_(The lyric in the page break is from "My Goddess" by the Exies.)_


	3. Part One: Shadows

_\----s-o---w-h-a-t---i-f---y-o-u---c-a-n---s-e-e---?--/--t-h-e---d-a-r-k-e-s-t---s-i-d-e---o-f---m-e---?-----_

**Chapter Three: _Shadows_**

_ **12 Years Ago** _

Obi-Wan heard Anakin run across his room, skidding to a stop. He inhaled deeply. One last thing, so the boy was truly an apprentice, and then he could block him from now until forever if need be.

"Master Obi-Wan? Master Obi-Wan, sir, where are you?"

Obi-Wan sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable. He couldn't -- did not want to -- prolong it. _Establish the bond. Block him. Then it's all done._

"Here," Obi-Wan replied, pushing aside the shimmersilk crimson curtain that separated the balcony and the bedroom and walking in. Shimmersilk was a special fabric, and he always felt odd around it. Too delicate and refined, he reflected, fingers trailing upon it as he walked in, stopping three paces before Anakin.

"So, what was that last thing, sir?"

Obi-Wan stared down at Anakin. Yes, the first order of business when they returned to Coruscant and things were settled down, was that this boy would have a _bath._ Whether Obi-Wan had to hold him under or not. He smiled inwardly at that wicked little thought. Amusing, but it wouldn't happen. But the fact still remained: The child obviously did not understand the meaning of "wash up".

Not rolling his eyes as he wished, Obi-Wan went and sat on the edge of the bed, Anakin running up and hopping onto the bed, sitting on top of the covers with his legs crossed. He bounced slightly as he sat. The boy was immensely too fidgetty for Obi-Wan's like. It unnerved him.

"So?" Anakin persisted.

"A bond. Between every master and padawan, there is a mental link. It's important, so that one can tell when the other is in peril."

"Peril?"

"Danger, Skywalker."

"Okay." Anakin cocked his head to the side, thinking. "So, we know what the other person is feeling, too?"

"Yes. If they so wish it."

"Okay..." Anakin said slowly. He right now could sense just faintly the feelings Obi-Wan had -- none of them all that nice, especially towards him, Anakin.

"Close your eyes, Anakin. Clear your mind." Anakin followed Obi-Wan's instructions, the last part a bit hard for him. His mind was racing, what with being so quickly immersed in this new and exciting life. Finally, he managed it. He felt something, like a nudge, but in his mind. He reached out toward it.

A flood of feelings suddenly washed over him, though the flow was quickly dammed. It must have only been just a second in reality, but the strength of them strongly impacted Anakin. There was a tumultuous swirl of anger and resentment and overwhelming sorrow locked up inside Obi-Wan. After the brief exposure, but with the imprint still in his mind, Anakin was amazed when he opened his eyes and looked upon his Master. One would never know that his emotions churned so forcefully inside. He looked nothing but calm, if a little worn and weary.

_Can you hear me, Anakin?_

"Yes!" Anakin cried, utterly entralled. "Yeah! I can hear you -- in my head!"

_Just think back, send your thoughts towards me. And I can hear you._

I love you, Master Obi-Wan. This is so wizard!

Be careful of that term love, Padawan. Love is an attachment and attachments are forbidden to a Jedi.

But...

No buts, Skywalker. It simply is.

Anakin was crestfallen, his blue eyes hurt as he stared into Obi-Wan's impassive face and piercing grey-green eyes. They weren't blue right now. Anakin hoped that they might turn that colour again. Obi-Wan seemed more...normal...when his eyes shown more blue. 

_Master?_

_Yes, Anakin?_

Anakin smiled at Obi-Wan's soft voice in his mind. But a pensive frown quickly shadowed his cherubic face. "I felt something...when we first connected through this bond...thing..." he started, choosing to speak aloud.

_Not a 'bond-thing', Skywalker, just a bond._

Anakin's nose twitched at the rebuff, but he continued. "Well...I mean, was that you? 'Cos I know that...I mean -- I know that you're sad, and that you don't really like me...but do you really _hate_ me, Master Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan sighed. His apprentice was far too intuitive by half. "I don't hate you, Anakin." It wasn't quite a lie. He knew he shouldn't hate Anakin as he did. After some intense meditating and coming to terms and letting go, perhaps he would achieve a better relationship with the boy, but right now, that was the last thing on his mind. "I'm a bit...overwhelmed."

"I still like you, Obi-Wan. I miss Qui-Gon a lot, too."

 _You have no right to!_ Obi-Wan's mind screamed, and he was thankful he had his personal thoughts and emotions shielded from the boy. He inhaled deeply and nodded. "I'm sure."

Anakin, mood everchangeable as always, sprung up and headed to the door. "We've got to go to the banquet Pad -- I mean, Queen Amidala is having!"

"Head on, Anakin. I may be down later."

"But Master Obi-Wan, sir. You're one of the guests of honour."

"I am aware of that fact, Padawan. But don't question me, just do as I say."

Anakin frown, face a mix between put-out and genuinely sad. "Yes, sir."

\------------------------------------

Obi-Wan lay back in his bed in the suite the queen had appointed for him in her palace. He stared at the vaulted, engraved ceiling, which he would have noted was actually quite lovely had he actually been looking. His face felt hot, no doubt from the mix of anger and sorrow he was bottling up inside.

"I can't do it, Master. I can't," he whispered brokenly to the night. "I don't know what to do. I don't trust this boy. Not like you. And I can't --" His words were only making him more lost amid the wasteland of jagged pieces of his shattered heart and the fog of his confusion and uncertainty.

He didn't know what to do. For so long, he had hoped to become a Knight. But not like this. Not like this. _This._ This pain -- it was unbearable. And the extra burden he'd been saddled with? He didn't know how or what he was to do. Suddenly he felt very much younger, and painfully, acutely alone.

Obi-Wan curled up into himself, hugging a soft pillow to him. All this plush and richness. It was a nice luxury, but he felt out of place when he was not numb enough to the world that he actually took in his surroundings. Not that he didn't appreciate it. It just wasn't something a Jedi needed.

Maybe he should have been a farmer. The thought struck him off-guard. But if he had stayed a farmer, he wouldn't have had to deal with this. The loss of Qui-Gon, the daunting responsibility of the training of Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. But then, he wouldn't have been _him_. Ever since he was a small child, Obi-Wan had known he was destined to be a Jedi. And Xanatos' meddling would have thrown him and Qui-Gon back together, as it had. Because, like being a Jedi, Obi-Wan knew he had been meant to be Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice, despite their clashes.

Obi-Wan held tight to the pillow. Tomorrow, after the celebration, he and Skywalker would be heading back to Coruscant. Home. Back to the Jedi Temple.

Back to his apartments, where he would now be the Master instead of the apprentice. How quickly his life had been changed with one jab of a lightsabre. With one fatal stroke. How he wished he had been the one that had been on the end.

With that painful thought --with the knowledge that he was not the one run through, and would have to prevail, without knowing what in Sith hell he was going to do, but knowing all too well that he must just _do_ \-- Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut tight, and saw all too clearly that fateful battle replay in his mind.

\------------------------------------

Anakin Skywalker looked once again over at the empty seat beside him. Obi-Wan wasn't coming. Anakin had known that when the Jedi had sent him along on his own way. Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted to be as far away from his new apprentice as possible. Anakin's eyes narrowed. He'd lied. Obi-Wan had lied when he said he didn't hate him. But Anakin hadn't when he had said that he loved him. He loved Obi-Wan for still allowing his dream of becoming a Jedi to come true. But right now -- right now, Anakin didn't want to acknowledge that feeling anymore than Obi-Wan wanted to acknowledge him.

He stabbed at a piece of shaak steak upon his plate. This was more food than he had seen in his entire life and he picked at it, unsure whether he should shovel it all down or eat modestly or what. Why was Obi-Wan so mad at him? He could be mad at Obi-Wan, too, he reckoned, face flaming. After all, if Obi-Wan had done his job right, wouldn't Qui-Gon be alive right now? It would be better if Qui-Gon were alive still. Master Qui-Gon had liked him. Maybe Obi-Wan should've died. Maybe it would have been better that way.

Padmé's gentle hand on his arm brought him back from his dark thoughts. He'd be leaving her tomorrow. Off to stay with Obi-Wan the Grump. She smiled, trying to make him feel better. He'd remember her smile. He doubted he'd see many afterward.

He smiled back and returned to his food and contemplation.

\------------------------------------

Nubians threw great grand celebrations, Anakin concluded. He stood on the steps of the Theed Palace, with Obi-Wan, and Padmé -- no, Queen Amidala, and her council, as well as the Jedi Council. And of course, R2-D2. The Gungans were coming up the steps, the imposing Boss Nass coming straight up to Amidala.

Amidala handed Boss Nass a large sphere, pinkish with what looked like lightining caught inside it. Amidala had told him what the proper name of it was, but Anakin couldn't remember. He honestly didn't really care, because his eyes were stuck on Padmé, the young Queen Amidala, radiant in her feathery, light ceremonial dress. It was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful.

Boss Nass' booming, " _Peace!_ " reverberated throughout the city it seemed. Anakin looked to Padmé, who flashed him a radiant smile that lit up his heart. He hoped they would meet again soon. He glanced surreptitiously at Obi-Wan. He looked tired and worn.

But his eyes were glazed with blue. Sad eyes, tired eyes. But blue. Maybe there was hope yet.

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_(The lyrics in the page break are from "Animal I Have Become" by Three Days Grace.)_


	4. Part One: Try to Redefine What was Known

_\-----s-u-n-k---i-n-t-o---o-b-l-i-v-i-o-n---I---c-a-n---o-n-l-y---s-e-e-----_

**Chapter Four: _Try to Redefine What was Known_**

Anakin was tucked in for the night. Upon returning, Obi-Wan had removed all the last remains of himself from his former room in the apartment. The repulsorlift model fighters he had made as a Youngling...the datapads of information and personal journaling...the Holonovels he never had a chance to really read. He had taken it all out of his room and neatly placed it in the common room. Then he had nodded towards the now-vacant bedroom, indicating for Anakin to take a look about.

Anakin had been amazed by it. There was a serenity about the room -- a serenity about this entire place, the Jedi Temple. Or at least the main part, he amended. When he had been in the Council Spire, he had felt tense.

" _Wizard_ ," fell softly from his lips as he spun slowly about, eyes catching every detail he could. He noticed that the sunset could be seen from his window and eagerly ran out onto the balcony to watch what of it he could. At least there was something out there that would help him cope with being lost in this new life, this new world. His mother and he would watch the suns set back home on Tatooine. He stayed out until the moment he could no longer see the bleeding red of the sun as it disappeared behind the numerous buildings.

Obi-Wan had seen his apprentice standing out on the balcony through the kitchen window. The boy had stared avidly until the sun had dropped from view. Then, shoulders noticeably slumped, he had shuffled back inside. Obi-Wan sighed. He scraped together something meagre that might have passed as a meal on some far-flung planet. They ate in relative silence, Anakin scarfing down his meal, Obi-Wan picking at it. Anakin nervously looked about after he finished his food. Obi-Wan, grateful for any excuse not to sit anymore, sprang up and took it and his plate, placing them on the counter beside the sink.

"I -- I'll help, Master Obi-Wan," Anakin offered, standing beside his chair. Obi-Wan seemed so...bristly. Unapproachable. Like if he came too near he'd get stabbed by some invisible spine.

"Nevermind it. I can do it. Turn in; you've a long day ahead of you," Obi-Wan replied, trying not to come off too-curt. Anakin adopted the slight pout that seemed to appear whenever he talked with his Master, and went off to his room. Obi-Wan heard the door slide shut. As it did, he leaned upon the counter, head in his hands.

_How am I going to do this? He's a little boy. He's too old to be an Initiate. He's...he's contradictions and complications. He more than I can handle right now -- I'm too new, too..._

Broken. Unstable. Almost as un-Jedi-like as he had ever been.

He laughed bitterly. He had most definitely been "un-Jedi-like" throughout his life. He had many things in his past that were testament to that.

After a long moment of trying to gather himself and all but utterly failing, Obi-Wan washed up the dishes and then headed to the common room. He had moving-in of his own to do. And he was terrified. He entertained the thought of putting off what he had to do for a bit, just claiming the sofa in the common room as a sleeping place for a time. Until he could do this. But he knew that was a day not soon coming, and that he couldn't appear so broken before his Padawan.

So, as always, he just _did_. Obi-Wan gathered his items and with a wave of the Force, opened the bedroom door. He took a deep breath, and then stepped in. Over the threshold between the common room and the bedroom, over the last line that separated him from being a Padawan into being a Knight and Master himself. Out of the safety of the shared room, where many people had been, into the room that had been completely Qui-Gon's.

He deposited his stuff on the desk two steps in beside the door before he turned on the lights. It was...it felt empty. Traces of his late Master could be found everywhere -- from the desk to the out-size bed. But without Qui-Gon's physical presence...it was just...cold. Whispers in a void.

Obi-Wan stared at the bed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't take over this space. He couldn't just suddenly become a Master. He couldn't fill Qui-Gon Jinn's boots. He shook his head at that thought, smiling wryly. That last, that was an impossibility for certain.

Slowly, he made his way over to the bed. Made plainly, if not as neatly as Obi-Wan had come to do his own. He looked around. A collection of holopictures were on the wall across the bed. Two. One of Qui-Gon and Tahl, his love whose death had done to Qui-Gon what Qui-Gon's had done -- was doing -- to Obi-Wan. They were Padawans at that time, by the look of the picture. Obi-Wan was a bit amazed -- he'd never quite been able to picture Qui-Gon as a young adult, without the long hair and beard that Obi-Wan had always known. The second picture was of Qui-Gon and himself. It unnerved Obi-Wan that he couldn't recollect when it was taken. Long ago -- he looked about fifteen in it. Two years after everything had fallen apart the first time -- because of him -- and a year before it all fell apart once more -- because of Qui-Gon. But he couldn't remember the day.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan turned away. He stood looking into the room for a long moment, and then decisively set to the task of making the room his own.

When he was clearing out the desk, he found his Master's possessions had not been as few as he had thought. He found a collection of datapads, mostly information on past missions. And he also found a datapad which must have been a personal journal, for it had a lock on it -- voice print, or code, Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure. And he found another collection of holos. There was one more of Obi-Wan with Qui-Gon -- this one had been taken after they had come back to Coruscant from Bandomeer. He had been thirteen, and finally had won the older Jedi over and had become his apprentice. This was before Melida/Daan, but that entire episode happened soon thereafter. And then there was one of Obi-Wan alone. He was eighteen in that one. It had been taken after he had come home from Avindal. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, locking down memories that surfaced at that realisation. When opened them, he looked between the earlier picture to the more recent one. There hadn't been much change -- he'd filled out and toned up, but not much change in physical appearance. But the change -- the pass of years and experiences -- they all could be seen within his changeable eyes. He hid things behind those eyes. And though sometimes the colour would let on to something below the surface, they were just as apt to change the next moment.

There was another holo of Tahl...two more. And then one more lay in the bottom of the drawer. _Xanatos_. A holo of his late Master's fallen former apprentice. Of his own secret -- dashed -- love. Obi-Wan was transfixed by the hypnotic, gemlike blue eyes. So clear and commanding. The elegantly-boned face, straight nose, full lips. That smirk. He was charismatic. He was everything Obi-Wan had ever loved and hated, all in one.

Worrying at his bottom lip, Obi-Wan flipped the picture over and left it, continuing on with his task. Finally he had all his stuff set up, and Qui-Gon's things -- save the one holo of Xanatos deCrion -- were neatly packed away in a box in the bottom of the closet. His own effects now decorated the room. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan sat upon the bed.

_Come off it, Kenobi. He's gone. You are the Master now. You can't let yourself be bothered by all these little memories._

Obi-Wan scoffed at himself. He would. One day. Just not today. Or anytime soon. He'd have to meditate to death to be able to. But right now he was too tired to agonise over much anymore and climbed into bed, laying atop the covers, face buried in the pillow. He was asleep before he even thought to cry.

\----------------------------------

Anakin lay restlessly in his bed. He had woken up from a bad dream, and now he couldn't get back to sleep. It wasn't a nightmare, like the one he had had on Padmé's starship. It was just a bad dream. He missed his mother. He had dreamt that he was running towards her, a Jedi Padawan and all now, and he knew how happy she would be. But he just kept running and running and he never seemed to get closer to her...and then there was a burst of bright red light, and he fell. And then his mom wasn't there anymore. It unsettled him.

And so now he lay awake. It was still so cold to him. Obi-Wan had given him a extra blanket, but even buried beneath his blankets, Anakin shivered. From fear and just plain being cold. He sniffed, curling tight up into a ball.

 _I miss Mom._ How very badly so did he ever miss her. He didn’t know if he could deal wih how homesick he was. He was just so out of his element – like he’d been tossed into and ocean. He was a desert-rat – he couldn’t swim. That’s what it felt like. Flailing in an ocean, not sure if he would make it or be pulled under.

 _I miss Padmé_. He knew she was Queen of an entire planet, and that her worries were of much more gravity than his. But she had sort of made the ache for home and his mom hurt less. She had been a caring friend. Truly an Angel. But she was at her home on Naboo, just as his mother was still on Tatooine.

He was here on Coruscant, far from both of them.

All he had was Obi-Wan.

Who quite evidently didn’t want him.

Anakin clenched his hands into fists at that. It hurt – Obi-Wan’s not wanting him, or whatever was up with his Master. And that it hurt made him angry. But Jedi weren’t supposed to act like that – act like either him or Obi-Wan were at the moment. Anakin tossed fitfully over to lay on his side.

And then he lay suddenly still. Something was off. Something was wrong. What? Not with him. It didn’t feel like he was in imminent danger....

A harsh cry reached his ears. It was quite muffled – travelling across the apartment and through two doors, it rightfully should have been. Still, to be heard by Anakin, it had to have been initially quite loud.

Something was the matter with Obi-Wan. Anakin lay still for a moment more. What was it? Did Jedi have nightmares? And why didn’t he hear it in his mind? Didn’t he and Obi-Wan have that bond? Shouldn’t he be able to know through that what was wrong with him?

But he didn’t. But he did know that something _was_ the matter.

Anakin tossed his legs over the side of his bed and climbed out and quietly padded to Obi-Wan’s door. He didn’t hesitate before opening it.

"Master Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan’s eyes glittered in the little light that came in from the common room around Anakin’s diminutive form at his bedroom door. Obi-Wan had just laid back down from jerking abruptly bolt upright from his nightmare, and was just settling when his door had slid open, revealing his Padawan. He cleared his throat before for answering. "Yes, Anakin?"

The boy stood for a moment, shifting his weight a bit. "Are you alright?" he finally asked.

"I'm fine, Anakin," Obi-Wan lied. Masters weren't supposed to lie to their apprentices so often, were they? Well, Qui-Gon had occasionally lied to him. Obi-Wan was taking the liberty...and running with it. He just wanted the boy gone. So he could just lay and hurt in peace. Obi-Wan sighed. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. He was stuck with the boy. Because his master had entreated with his dying breath for Obi-Wan to train Anakin. And Obi-Wan had loved Qui-Gon like a father. All he had ever wanted was to please his master, and so often had he caused conflict. So he wanted to do this, to right whatever wrongs he had ever done in his past. Until he had realised just how hard this loss hit him.

But he couldn't just abandon the boy, whether he wanted to or not. Obi-Wan bit his lip, hard. Blood welled and he licked it away before exhaling in a sigh. "And why are you up, Anakin?"

"I -- I...had a bad dream, sir."

 _Kriff_ , Obi-Wan mentally cursed himself. He hoped that Anakin's bad dream hadn't been caused by him. He had himself tightly shielded -- especially to his Padawan. It shouldn't have affected him, but then again, Anakin was a special case. Obi-Wan reluctantly sat up. "So you came to just stand at the door?"

Anakin flinched. Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Force, he was horrible with this child. Why?

"I...I thought that you had had a nightmare, or that something was wrong with you. So I came to check." Anakin jutted his chin out a bit. He would not apologise for coming over, not when he had a good right to. But Obi-Wan had a way of making him feel like everything he did was wrong, or violated some invisible, unknown code or something. He didn't like it. He hated having to feel so on-guard around Obi-Wan. Master Qui-Gon had been so much more personable, likeable...just -- so much better it seemed. Anakin missed him a great deal right now, like he missed his mother or Padmé. Any of them would have a kind word of comfort for him now. But not Obi-Wan.

Anakin turned to leave. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. _Kriff, kriff. Kark it. Quit being such a sod. Such a slab-brained bantha's ass, Kenobi._ His master had entrusted him to teach this boy. He couldn't let his own personal troubles interfere with his duty. At least, he could minimalise it a bit.

"Wait, Anakin. Wait." For a moment, he thought the boy wouldn't. But then Anakin did, running a sleeve under his nose with a sniff and then wiping his eyes.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come here." A light came to Anakin's eyes and the boy did so. He came up and took the space Obi-Wan offered beside him. His Master settled back onto the bed and Anakin snuggled up beside him. Obi-Wan was odd. He was like his eyes. He seemed to change moment to moment.

"Thank you, Master." Anakin whispered. Obi-Wan couldn't speak around the lump in his throat. He squeezed his eyes to stop the tears. How he hated this. All of this. Anakin's acceptance. His own emotions. His obligations. Anakin.

And he was so lost in all of it.

\----------------------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from "Consumption" by Kyuuketsuki Manifest)_


	5. Part One: See the Stars Fall

__

\---w-e---h-a-v-e---t-o---s-u-c-c-u-m-b---t-o--/--t-h-e---f-e-e-l-i-n-g-s---w-e---c-a-n---n-e-v-e-r---f-a-c-e---

**Chapter Four: _See the Stars Fall_**

_It felt so blissfully_ right...

He shivered. It was cold, though his back was slightly warm and some fabric clung to him. _Fabric?_ He clawed up into consciousness. Fabric? He hadn't had any clothes on. The roar of the rushing waterfall did nothing to help clear his spinning mind.

But the rush of memory was vivid and intense. As swirling as his mind had been as he had been caught up in that moment. And just as disturbing to him. He hadn't any clothes on, but Xanatos deCrion still did. And he was spooned up behind him on the cold rock floor.

"Karking Sith hells," Obi-Wan spat venomously. He jumped at the warm finger that began to caress his shoulder, idly designing an invisible little pattern.

"Such a foul mouth, bratling."

"It's far better than you deserve to hear." Obi-Wan sat up and got to his feet, walking away. Xanatos sighed, throwing an arm over his eyes as he rolled over onto his back. He peeked beneath his clinging sleeve. The boy had such a delectable ass...but in attitude, he was harder to move than a bantha's.

"Why must we play these petty games, Obi-Wan?" He smirked, hiding his predator-like smile beneath his arm when he realised that he wasn't called out for the first name usage, and it widened when his own first name passed those lips.

"Because you're supposed to be _dead_ , Xanatos! Because you're a fallen Jedi! Because you _destory_ \-- you're of the bloody _Dark!_ You are the antithesis of everything I believe in! You --"

Xanatos had rolled over onto his side and propped up on an elbow, surreptitiously taking in Obi-Wan's form, keeping a neutral expression when the boy had whirled around, musing how the front was just as perfect as the back, if not better. But two seconds into his little love's rant, despite admiring the conviction and lilting timbre, Xanatos had grown weary. Mentally, Xanatos covered Obi-Wan's lips with a finger. "Stop, Obi-Wan." His piercing, engaging eyes held the young Jedi. He had felt the mental finger quieting him. It felt so real...

Xanatos got to his feet and came before his prey, his love. He took off his tunic as he walked. It wasn't very dry, but the boy was positively shivering before him and at least the tunic should have been warm from body heat. (Plus, it would give him a chance to see Obi-Wan in black.) He stopped a mere step before Obi-Wan. The young Jedi, captivated by the azure depths of the man before him's eyes, did not move. Xanatos flipped the tunic about Obi-Wan's shoulders with a flourish, then took the boy by his chin. Obi-Wan blinked, and Xanatos felt the quick little thrill of fear that coursed through the Jedi.

He leaned forward, so that his lips were just brushing Obi-Wan's. The ragged inhalation was sweet to the older man. He closed his eyes, nuzzling his nose briefly against Obi-Wan's before whispering, "I would never _hurt_ you, love," against the boy's lips, the -- anguish, was that? -- coming clear in his smoky, silken voice. He sent his love through the bond they now shared. "Feel this," he entreated, words sounding a bit harsh, but only because they were insistent, because of the emotion loaded within them. "Feel this and _know_ it, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"You were horrible," Obi-Wan whispered back, trembling at how it felt as his lips brushed Xanatos'. "I haven't forgotten Telos...or Bandomeer."

"I couldn't have you, then. Then -- you were just a means to an end. Albeit, an end that did not come to fruition. Now, though...you're everything."

But that was exactly part of the problem. "Why, Xan? _Why?_ " He had been all but cruel to him back on Telos five years ago. And before that, he had sent him to be a miner in a harsh, treacherous environment. And now this -- this complete one-eighty? It was so -- confusing to Obi-Wan. He had to admit that being the focus of Xanatos' affection was as unsettling as it was...an honour. But he still didn't understand _why._

The incredulity of Obi-Wan's voice was as endearing as it was painful. Xanatos looked into the wide chameleon orbs, shining like the impossible grey-cast blue-green of the oceans of Avindal. He closed his own eyes, the innocence and light and confusion of Obi-Wan's like a jab from a shockstick to his chest.

" _Because you are everything I never was._ "

There it was. Obi-Wan was stunned. Truth.

Xanatos opened his eyes, dark blue swallowing Obi-Wan. "You belong to me, Obi-Wan. You know that." It wasn't a question.

And oh, did he ever. But Obi-Wan's defiant streak shone. "I belong to no one but myself."

Xanatos laughed ruefully, stepping back, but not releasing Obi-Wan's chin. He was smiling, though. And it glinted in his eyes. Amusement. _How wrong you are. And you know it_ , Xanatos thought, but said: "Must you always be so difficult?" _Truthfully._ Obi-Wan heard the request in his mind, and noted the hardening of the sapphire eyes that underlined the seriousness of it.

Truth. He was honourable; it had been given to him, he would return it. "I'd hate to think I accepted my downfall so easily."

Xanatos' smile broadened. Obi-Wan smiled himself. He liked this -- a true smile. Not a cunning smirk or cruel sneer. These smiles made Xan's eyes glow. _Xan_. When had he come to think of him so informally?

_When I realised I didn't care what he was. That I wanted him, too._

_Do you, Prince?_

"Why do you call me that? 'Prince.' Why that?"

Xanatos kissed his forehead. "Little love. Still so blind. I see you, and I see all you could be, without Jedi restraints. But I have to remember that's all you know."

"Xan..."

"I'm accepting you as you are, Obi-Wan. Like you accept me?" For once, an actual question. And a tough one. But Obi-Wan...despite all he knew, he wanted to go with what he _wanted_ for once. For him. Not everyone else. Just for him. So selfish. But if Xan was the prize, right now...he didn't care.

"Yes."

He actually felt relief roil from Xanatos deCrion at that simple admission. "Good. I call you Prince, Young One, because you are like me."

"What? Wouldn't I be your consort, then? Prince Xanatos of Telos' Nubile Plaything or that sort?" Obi-Wan grinned. Just like Obi-Wan loved Xanatos' true smiles, Xanatos enjoyed Obi-Wan's grins. They were...quirky.

"Ah, that wry humour again. I love that about you, as well. No, bratling. You're the Prince of Avindal."

"What?"

"You. If no one knew your name, those damn eyes are telling. Only the crowned family had them."

That explained the bewildered looks back in town upon his arrival. Xanatos continued.

"But Kenobi is the name of the crowned family. At least...it was until your mother was targeted for assassination and your family left the system. You and your brother were the heirs to the throne."

"How did you know about Owen?"

Xanatos smirked. "I have contacts, Young One. I can get about any information on anyone or -thing that I so wish. And I know a great deal about you, love.

"But yes, you two, if you ever came back to Avindal, could reclaim your position if you so wished. After Lyrea and Robben left with you and Owen, they decided to sort of abandon the idea of a monarchy. Not that the royal family did much. Just a throwback to a grander time, really."

"Owen hasn't come back?" Obi-Wan couldn't help the pang he felt in his chest. Was his brother here, now? Could he see him again?

"No. You all practically disappeared after you left Avindal. Records show the family lived on Naboo until you would have been about nine. After that...nothing."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. _This doesn't hurt. I'm a Jedi._ The Jedi were his family. Qui-Gon was his family. Xan, now, was the one who loved him, and whom he loved. Family. They were here, the good and bad. But constant. But they weren't...

The arm around his shoulders surprised him. It dropped away as he looked up into Xanatos' dark eyes. "So, not so detached to the idea of an actual blood-family as you'd like me to believe, brat?" Xan asked.

Obi-Wan worried at his bottom lip. "I suppose. I can't go and reclaim it though, Xanatos. It's Owen's. If he ever comes back."

"So we understand each other even better. I can't reclaim Telos. Not since everyone thinks me dead, and for the disaster I've wrought."

"Are you admitting you were --"

"No. I'm just stating what I know you believe. I still think quite differently from you."

Yes, that difference. Though it was undeniable that Obi-Wan and Xanatos were right together, loved each other, they still came from different ends of the spectrum. Xan was of the Dark. Obi-Wan was of the Light. Obi-Wan was already breaking so many of the rules he lived by following this affair. Xan had lost nothing.

 _Just his heart to someone he can't_ _have. Like me._

The pang that hit Obi-Wan's chest at that realisation hurt. This -- this blissful rightness -- was doomed. Perhaps that was why it was so consuming, enticing. Xanatos may have represented all that Obi-Wan held himself to be better than, but Xanatos deCrion also had that which Obi-Wan had never really known. _Freedom_. The ability to follow his heart, his whims. He had known it once, standing for his own beliefs on Melida/Daan. Standing for Cerasi. But that entire episode was a chapter he looked upon now with pain and shame. But still, the idea of that liberty...it was tempting.

Xanatos idly twirled Obi-Wan's padawan braid. "Mine was about this length when I left. Never liked the damned thing much. Not when it meant I had to keep my hair cut short."

Obi-Wan would have laughed at the reminesence if he hadn't felt so bad. For Xan. For himself. For them both together. He watched Xanatos twist the braid between his fingers. Xan tickled the bottom of Obi-Wan's chin with the end of his Padawan braid. Caressed it down his cheek, down the side of his neck to trace down the middle of his chest and then swirl lightly around a nipple. Obi-Wan inhaled shakily.

"I have twelve days."

Xanatos let the braid fall from his hand. He looked into Obi-Wan's eyes. "You could have forever." The crooked smile was half-hearted, forced. He knew it was futile.

"I have twelve days, Xan," Obi-Wan reiterated.

Xanatos looked away. _It's not right. You're mine. I love you. I should keep you._

_You know that you can't. Regardless of if I thought I want to or not. I know you won't._

_How are you so sure? I'm evil, remember._

Obi-Wan smiled. Humour from Xan, tainted with truth. He touched Xanatos' cheek, cupping his hand, smoothing his thumb across the skin, feeling the raised skin of the broken circle scar. _You're human. You love me. Therefore you'll let me go._

Xanatos brought his face back to Obi-Wan. His eyes glowed like the hottest part of a flame with conviction. _I'll hate them more._

_Then I'd have to hate you again. Do you want that?_

"Blast, little love. You've talked me into a corner." Xanatos was a bit amazed. He slipped his hand into Obi-Wan's free one, their fingers lacing together. He tightened his grip briefly and kissed Obi-Wan. "You're freezing. Let's go get you into your clothes, for what it's worth." He nipped the top of Obi-Wan's ear before whispering, "They're coming right back off when we get back to your room."

\---------------------------

He hadn't made an idle promise. No sooner had they gotten into the door of Obi-Wan's room than Xanatos slammed it shut and shot the bolt home with the Force, locking it, as he divested Obi-Wan of his tunic while at the same time he kept the boy walking backwards toward the bed. Obi-Wan's knees bumped the side as his tunic went sailing off across the room. He stopped Xanatos' hand on his utility belt. Xan's surprised eyes met his.

"No. This'll be twice I've been the one undressed. No."

Xan cut him a look, but couldn't help the smirk. He liked this change in events. His eyes widened when his own sash fell from him. The boy hadn't even moved.

"Isn't that against your precious Code, Young Love?"

" _You're_ against my 'precious' Code, Xan, and you know it," Obi-Wan replied, pushing the still-damp shimmersilk from Xanatos' shoulders as he leaned in to kiss the older man, hard. Twelve days. He had to make the most of it.

Xanatos groaned and leaned into it. He shivered as the cool air of the room hit his now-bare skin, and bit his lip as a little mewl issued forth as Obi-Wan pulled away. He felt the change in the boy.

"Not nervous now after that wonderful display a moment ago, are you, love?"

"N -- no." Even if he hadn't stammered, the denial come too quickly. Xanatos sighed. He toed off his boots, kicking them over to where Obi-Wan had dropped his (he'd carried his on the way back.) He stepped in close to Obi-Wan again, and framed the almost-angelic face with callused hands. His hands then slid down to follow the boy's shoulders and down his sides to finally grasp his ass as Xanatos leaned in to kiss him.

"So tell me, Obi-Wan," he whispered in the boy's ear, savouring the delightful little moans Obi-Wan was making as their hips ground together. The electric bolt it sent through Xanatos' own frame was intense, and he grasped Obi-Wan bruisingly by the hips to still him.

"Xan..."

"Tell me, Obi-Wan," Xanatos said, picking up his original thought. "How many times have you done this?"

It was plausible to imagine that he had run the boy through with his lightsabre. Obi-Wan stood suddenly still, and his already blushing skin flamed red at the cheeks. He hadn't. He'd never gotten to actual sex. His cheeks flushed brighter, ears flaming, too. Xanatos looked almost sympathetic, a hand gentling his little love.

"We -- we, uh, hadn't gotten...gotten that" -- the boy swallowed hard -- "far."

The smile slid across Xan's face, one side of his mouth curling before the lips parted, flashing white and predatorial. _Mine._ Obi-Wan heard his thoughts clear: _Mine to take._ He shivered. There was a Dark current in the air, underlying the lust. It was...scary. It was...intoxicating. Part of him wanted Xan to do what he would. Part of him was terrified that that was exactly what Xan would do.

Xan nipped at Obi-Wan's neck as he undid the tie on the young Jedi's leggings and let them fall to the floor. Obi-Wan gasped and Xan stepped back as his own black pants fell. He looked up through a curtain of dark hair, one eyebrow arching, to see Obi-Wan smirking cheekily. He straightened and caught Obi-Wan by the chin. Again, that thrill of fear that shot through the boy. He was scared of him.

Obi-Wan noted the slight change in Xan's eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." The boy was afraid of him. He didn't care, but he had thought that if he truly loved him as he professed, that wouldn't be a matter. Alas, it was, for the same reason they would part. Damn the Jedi and their poisonous teachings.

"So, little love," Xan smoothly changed the subject. "I suppose I must initiate you, then."

The smoky, husky roughness of Xanatos' voice, the cool air on his hot, hot skin, Xanatos revealed before him in all his beautiful glory -- porcelain-coloured skin, smooth chest, the thin line of black that led from navel down... With a moan, Obi-Wan dragged his eyes back up before he was truly lost -- he was too close as it was. The glint in Xanatos' eyes was almost malicious, and Obi-Wan pushed away the unease he felt. Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

" _Okay, then. Teach._ "

Another wicked smile twisted Xanatos' mouth, and Xan, with a growl Obi-Wan half-expected of him, advanced on him, kissing him brutally and pushing into him, letting them both fall to the bed.

Xanatos' underlying furiosity unnerved him, and the Dark aura which surrounded him more than made the young Jedi skittish, but Xanatos' intensity also ensnared him. And in the end, as he lay glistening and sated and wonderfully sore, Xanatos' heavy, comfortable weight on top of him, Obi-Wan couldn't have cared less. He was awash in the supernova this moment was.

All that he had shied away from he now embraced. Just for now.

\---------------------------

_(The lyrics in the page break are from "Driven Under" by Seether.)_


	6. Part One: Wrongs Begin to Right

_\------t-h-e-r-e-'s---s-u-c-h---a---s-a-d---l-o-v-e--/--d-e-e-p---i-n---y-o-u-r---e-y-e-s-----_

**Chapter Six: _Wrongs Begin to Right_**

Obi-Wan awoke suddenly, feeling as if something was amiss. Only a moment later, he realised too acutely what all was. The room wasn't -- well, it was now, but he still hadn't adjusted to the fact and come to think of it as -- his; it was Qui-Gon's. The sleeping quarters of a Master. Which was what he now was. And he wasn't alone in his bed.

Initially, he'd jumped at that realisation. He wasn't an early riser to begin with, and coherence after waking -- especially abruptly -- was slow to come to him. So it took a bit to recollect the exchange with Anakin. The boy was snuggled suffocatingly close to him, blond head pillowed on his Master's bare chest, a little puddle of drool beneath his mouth. Obi-Wan groaned. Had he been this unbearable as a child? Not to any living soul, he didn't think. Perhaps the Healers, but that was justifiable. He sighed. He _was not_ going to stay pinned down in the same room with this boy for any longer than was necessary, and he was awake now, therefore it was no longer necessary. He gently pushed Anakin off over to the side, freeing himself and rolling out of bed. The boy curled up tightly. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, and headed for the 'fresher door. Something stopped him --a slight whimper, and a rustle as the boy curled himself into a tighter ball -- and he looked back. Another resigning sigh. With a wave of his hand, he used the Force to cover Anakin with the blanket. There was a contented sigh and the boy relaxed, still asleep. Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain the warring, swirling emotions he did not want to stop and contemplate, before locking himself in the 'fresher to see if one could drown in a shower.

He found the figurative of that a bit of a release. All his thoughts and anxieties and all those other little insidious emotions were washed, if not away, into a blurred storm where he could not separate or identify them for the time. But as his emotions were dampened, his mind wandered. And that nefarious inner voice of his was ready to ream him.

_You're a sodding bantha's ass, Kenobi. What more can you do wrong and still look in the mirror and call yourself "Jedi" honestly?_

Not much, he figured.

_"Perfect Padawan"... "Model Jedi"..._

He'd worked hard to achieve those titles. Far better than "Oafy-Wan" and all the more horrid names he'd been called as an Initiate.

 _Like those horrid little names you have for your_ Padawan _? "Sith-spawn". "Cause". "Bastard of the Dark" -- that one's inventive, Kenobi._

So he did not like nor trust the boy. He hadn't from the start. What was --

 _The problem is he's your bloody_ Padawan. _He's like your son, now, Kenobi. You're his teacher. His family. You're supposed to_ care _for him. He's a_ child, _Kenobi. A little --_

Blast! "Shut up. _Shut up_." But it was true. All true. Anakin Skywalker, that tainted little thing, was his Master's last care, and now in his. And all he wanted to do was kill him. Well, in the least, distance himself as much as possible. It was best. Obi-Wan nodded as he came to that conclusion. It was for the best. Best for him, best for the boy, if there was space between them now. There was space between Qui-Gon and him for a time.

_Not like this._

Blast it! He knew he was wrong. But all his Jedi serenity meant fuck-all at the moment. He had _no_ control, over anything, not now. Did he ever? He was the one that bent to others' whims. Maybe on Melida/Daan, but still he had been under the ideas of the Young. Maybe on Avindal, but still he had had to, at least for a moment, consider Xan. But leaving Avindal, that was one of the only times he had stood for _himself._ And he had been standing for his _Jedi_ soul. So, no, never. He'd always lived for something or someone else.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a plaything of the Powers that Be. He was meant for everyone else, but rarely was anything or anyone meant for _him_. And anything that seemed to be for him -- anything that mattered to him -- was taken away, out of force or need. Cerasi, Xan, Qui-Gon...

 _I just want time. I just want something...anything for_ me. _No expectations, no binding duties. Just...what_ I _want. Blast._ Because he'd never get it. His lifestyle wasn't designed that way. And he knew it, he knew he shouldn't want so selfishly, but...

The sheer _anger_ that welled -- anger at everything, but mostly anger at himself -- it threatened to consume him. He couldn't breathe for a moment for it. With a major conscious effort, he forced it down, knowing that it was churning right under the surface and would break through soon again. He shut off the shower, towelled and dressed.

"Anakin!" he snapped as he paused at his bedroom door. The boy bolted upright. "You've class. Padawan Veld's going to show you around." With that, Obi-Wan left the room and apartment to see if the neighbouring Padawan _would_ actually show Anakin about.

\-------------------------

Anakin came home to the apartment elated -- he'd enjoyed the classes, though he had a dark little spot, down in the core of fear and anger he'd always had, where all his feelings every time someone said something they thought he didn't hear behind his back, looked at him odd, would boil up and then be crushed down into. Anakin had diligently quashed down his fiery temper that had flared, and he had focused on making a good impression. He thought he did. Most of the Masters teaching his classes didn't seem to outright dislike him -- save for Master Windu, but he didn't think that Master Windu really liked anyone.

As soon as he stepped foot into the apartment, Anakin had felt that something was wrong. He reached out with his feelings, almost unconsciously like he used to. Anakin had found out today that everything he thought was natural was actually a great deal of Force utilising.

Obi-Wan wasn't home.

Anakin's brows knitted as he frowned. Where in karking hell would Obi-Wan be? Flopping down, sullen, upon the sofa, Anakin folded his arms, and decided he would wait. Anakin knew that his restless dreams would return in all likelihood. He didn't want to deal with them.

Most of all, he didn't want to be alone.

Where was Obi-Wan? _Why_ was he gone? When would he come back? Would he? He was a Jedi -- didn't Jedi have like a curfew? Weren't they bound by their Code not to do stupid things? Anakin counted leaving one's brand-new Padawan, let alone the damned Chosen One, alone, as a stupid thing.

Anakin curled up tightly on the sofa, propping his chin atop his knees as he wrapped his arms about them. It was too cold still. And he didn't want to be left alone. He admired Obi-Wan, was more grateful to the Knight than his pride would let him admit. Without Obi-Wan, he truly would be alone right now.

But it was seeming that even with Obi-Wan, he was still alone.

Anakin turned his head, pressing his cheek against his knees. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a voice choking on a sob, to no one in particular, but meant for one person. _I'm sorry. Please don't leave me alone._

All he met was the cold walls of his Master's shielding.

\-------------------------

He downed whatever potent liquor filled his glass. It was bloodred, shot through with violet swirls. It burned all the way down, though somewhat dulled. He had lost count of what number that shot was. He had a damnably high tolerance, but the liquor was starting to finally affect him. He felt himself slightly swaying where he stood. He ordered another, paid the bartender and headed out into the crowd.

All of the sudden he found himself pinned against a wall, a Devaronian holding him with his back flat against it, arms pinned at the forearm, held out to either side of him. With the sudden impact, his hand had gone numb and his drink had shattered upon the floor. He looked blearily back up at the hulking demon-like humanoid. Alcohol limited his harness on the Force, not that he really was thinking about that. But that explained why he hadn't had that tingle of warning.

"Fuckin' Jedi," the Devaronian sneered, pressing his face close to Obi-Wan's. His breath smelled of alcohol and something rancid. A crowd was starting to gather -- the Devaronian's gang.

"Take it outside!" the bartender called. The Devaronian shot him a look, then grabbed Obi-Wan by his hair and pushed him forward and out a back door, flinging him across the back alley. His head and side collided hard with the steel of the neighbouring building, face connecting hard with the pavement when he couldn't get his hands out in time to break his fall. The Devaronian and his crew were on about their loathing of the Jedi -- "spineless, meddlin' bastards, thinkin' their so big 'cos they got damned laserswords an' shit" -- and then they were pressing in close, forming a tight ring about the fallen Jedi, and then legs and feet and fists were connecting with his body. Obi-Wan was disoriented as it was -- the sudden incoherence the attack left him in didn't help, and he was helpless to shake out of his stupor. A fist connected with his jaw, and what upward purchase he had managed to gain was lost as he slumped down again. But this is what he had wanted. He'd gone out hoping for a fight, hoping someone would colour his body to match his soul -- black, blue and red.

But he shouldn't. _What in Sith hell are you doing, Obi-Wan? Are you going to allow yourself to be beaten? To prove you're nothing but the failure you see yourself as?_

 _No._ A burst of incandescent rage burst through him, and he flung the emotion outward. The group was gone from its tight semi-circle about him, all thrown back, asses on the ground.

"Fuckin' shit, man. What the hell? Jedi ain't s'posed to do _that_ ," one remarked, stumbling to his feet. The Devaronian sneered at his accomplice's cowardice, and then turned back to Obi-Wan. The young Jedi Knight was getting to his feet. His face was flushed, and his anger was clear in raging grey eyes. With a rough swipe of the back of his hand, he wiped blood away from his mouth.

The Devaronian was determined he'd kick the life out of _someone_ tonight, and this Jedi was his designated target, regardless whatever telekinetic tricks the bastard pulled. He stalked forward...

...and stopped at the fist closing around his neck. But the Jedi was four paces away, and no one else was near. Nevertheless, it felt like something was choking the demon, his throat constricting tight.

"Fuck. Off." The Jedi's cultured, strident voice seemed to echo down the alley -- it certainly got through the Devaronian's head. Frantic, the hulking creature nodded emphatically. He felt the pressure about his neck lessen, only to be thrown back once more, this time connecting with the building of the bar he had exited, horned skull hitting with a resounding _crack!_

Obi-Wan glared at the slumped form before him. And then, straightening up his tunics, he walked out of the alley. His night wasn't over.

\-------------------------

Anakin had snapped fully awake at Tru Veld's sharp knock upon his door. Obi-Wan hadn't been back, though Anakin made no mention of this to Tru. Or to anyone else. It hurt though, deep down. That Obi-Wan must hate him that much, that he didn't even want to see him. Anakin understood it all quite clearly. He knew that Obi-Wan was only watching him because Master Qui-Gon had been going to. Once again, he found himself having to quash that hatred for Obi-Wan that flared. He thought that maybe things were better -- Obi-Wan hadn't sent him away when he'd had a bad dream, instead letting him snuggle close like his mom had back home. But evidently that had been a one-time thing. Anakin didn't know what to do.

He skipped midday meal, too agitated to contemplate food, even though the cafeteria was a bit of an adventure, and he liked meeting so many Jedi in one place. He just couldn't do it today.

The sound of glass shattering stopped Anakin at the door to the apartment. _What in Sith hell?_ Anakin punched in the door code. From the door, one could see straight into the kitchen, and Anakin saw that anything breakable that had been on the counters was shattered. Obi-Wan stood in the common room, head bowed, hands fisted at his sides.

"Master?"

"Go. Away."

Anakin bit at his lip. No. He did not want it to be like this any longer. "No," he told his Master straightforward.

"You've no right to disobey my request, Padawan."

"Don't call me that. I don't want to be your fucking Padawan if you don't want me. I don't like you that much, either, Obi-Wan." He bit his lip hard in surprise at the harsh words that had flown from him without thinking, but how he honestly felt -- a dark little, not-quite-fair corner of him.

The red-gold head snapped up at the words. Slowly, the Knight turned round, revealing his dishevelled appearance. Torn and stained tunics, bloodshot eyes. His face was marred by bruises and bloodied, scraped skin. Anakin just felt the... He didn't know how to term it. It was like a Dark ball of swirling emotions, right at the heart of his Master. A Darkness painting a border round the Light that he always sensed within Obi-Wan. And he felt the _hurt._ Gods, the hurt. And Obi-Wan was trying to ignore it.

"I know," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I'll talk to the Council later. Get you reassigned --"

"No!" That statement shot ice down Anakin's spine -- it terrified him. He didn't want that, he just -- "I don't want anyone else. I don't _know_ anyone else. I don't want to be thrown away. Master Qui-Gon left me. You're all I've got." His voice got quiet. "I don't want to be left alone... Why? Why do you want to get away from me so bad?" Anakin had walked up to his Master, standing close, a hand hovering over Obi-Wan's own.

Obi-Wan didn't have an honest answer for that. Mistrust, to be sure... Anger, at the situation because of the boy. But -- did he truly _hate_ Anakin? Possibly. Maybe. Maybe not? He finally just said, "I don't wish to share."

Anakin looked pleadingly up at Obi-Wan. Those big blue shining orbs. He himself had worn that same forlorn look... Obi-Wan looked away. He didn't want to acknowledge that he understood everything the boy felt -- had felt it once in his life before as well. He sighed. He had hated that feeling -- being lost, unloved, unwanted. A throwaway. Anakin had to have felt like that for the majority of his life -- felt he didn't matter. It wasn't something anyone should have to feel, Obi-Wan had decided long ago. Obi-Wan realised in that moment just how hypocritical he was being.

"Go to midday meal, Anakin. Let me think." He took Anakin's hand, and the boy felt the shift. He understood. It wouldn't be addressed, but it would happen.

Anakin shrank back with a nod. "You'll be here? When I get back? I hate being left alone like that, Master." His youth shown through again, when moments ago he had seemed so suddenly mature. All Obi-Wan did was nod, his shame leaving a knot in his throat. Anakin gave a weak smile and left.

Obi-Wan sank to his knees as the door shut. There was a lot of meditation he needed to get to. He needed to find himself, his centre that had been lost in this maelstrom of heavy, Dark emotion. He had a feeling that perhaps things would go smoother if he did, finally.

\-------------------------

"Master?"

"Yes, Anakin."

"Can I stay in here?"

"Bad dream again? You've got to overcome those, Anakin."

"No, Master. Can't I just stay with you?"

And where only hours previous in the same day, a reluctant, grudging "yes" or more likely an outright "no" would have been given, now the space beside the Jedi Knight was patted, and Anakin rushed over to take it.

"So you feel better, Master Obi-Wan?"

"In a manner of speaking." A bit of relief had been found within his meditation. Unfortunately, it was not all resolved -- he couldn't imagine it being, even any time soon -- and he was still left with a headache. But things were clearer, not muddled by Darkness.

Anakin was special. He was a lost, overwhelmed child, as Obi-Wan himself had once been. His master had cared a great deal and had held this boy in high esteem, only after just meeting him. It would take him longer, because of the lingering mistrust he felt toward him, but Obi-Wan would not hurt the boy any further. He couldn't. He now saw himself with in the slight child.

Anakin lay his head on Obi-Wan shoulder and snuggled up as Obi-Wan this time put a comforting arm around him.

"Thank you, Master."

"Good night, Anakin."

 _This..._ this was right.

\-------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from "As World Falls Down" by David Bowie.)_


	7. Part One: A Moment Timeless Still Must End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avinic is basically Gaelic, but if it doesn't translate out right, take it as a liberty, and the fact that I don't speak Gaelic

_\---n-o-b-o-d-y---w-a-n-t-s---t-o---f-e-e-l---a-l-o-n-e--/--a-n-d---e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y---w-a-n-t-s---t-o---l-o-v-e---s-o-m-e-o-n-e---_

_**Chapter Seven: A Moment Timeless Still Must End** _

He awoke to a soft kiss upon his cheek...then his forehead...to finally have warm lips press against his own. Languidly, he responded.

"Good morn," Xanatos whispered as they finally pulled apart, but still wrapped in each other's arms.

This transformation -- was all that Xanatos ever needed was love? From someone whom he loved? Obi-Wan reflected on that, and found himself worried about his own future. Qui-Gon, while a good Master over-all (if a bit trying for all his rule-bending and breaking) still was not inclined to truly show affection. Maybe that, coupled with the killing of his father, was what had sent Xan down his current path. Not his arrogance, or anything of that like -- just having his love never returned and taken away.

"You're shaking, love," Xan said softly, kissing his neck. "What's wrong?"

"Cold, I guess."

_You're a terrible liar._

_You've got a serious lack of respect._

_For what?_

_Staying out of my head._

Xan propped himself up on one elbow to get a better view of his young lover. He idly traced patterns upon the warm cream-coloured skin. "I'm not intruding," he said. "Simply staying where I feel I should."

 _Hm._ Obi-Wan sighed. Those sapphire eyes were looking down at him, but not just at him -- through him, into the soul that he, Xanatos, was now part of.

He couldn't help it. Obi-Wan turned away, laying on his side with his back to Xanatos. He couldn't stand knowing that in eleven days he would be no better than Qui-Gon to Xanatos deCrion.

"You'll always be better to me than he ever was, Young One." A soft kiss on the shoulder, followed by a teasing little bite to the side of his neck. "Why? -- Because you've shown me love. I don't think I can truly hate you after that."

"But I'm still leaving you." Suddenly, he didn't want to. It was the last thing in the galaxy he wanted to do. But he _had to._ He was meant to be a Jedi. There were so many that expected so much of him.

"Forget their expectations, Obi-Wan. Stay, then. I expect nothing of you."

Obi-Wan threw up a rather brusquely erected shield against Xan's constant listening.

 _But you do expect of me. You expect me to love you regardless,_ he thought, knowing this time Xan would not hear him. _And I don't think I can. I can love you, Xan. But you'll always, when it comes to black and white, be my enemy._

And that was the painful actuality of the matter. Xan may have said that he could handle Obi-Wan's leaving him, but Obi-Wan knew that not long after, that acceptance would be twisted and his leaving would be seen as betrayal.

"What is it that you don't want me to hear, love?" Hot breath whispered over his ear. _The truth,_ Obi-Wan thought, still shielded, a knot forming in his throat and a savage ache building in his chest. He closed his eyes against the burn of sudden tears.

Why was it so bloody complicated? Why? Was simplicity nothing but a fucking spice dream? Xan did not deserve to be hurt anymore -- and neither did Obi-Wan. But...it wouldn't work to their favour. Ever.

"Why can't this be easier?" Obi-Wan choked out in a whisper, unable to stop the tears from spilling past his closed lids.

"Obi-Wan."

Xanatos' voice was...beyond description. Just in conversation it was engaging, hypnotic -- aristocratic, as his carriage would suggest. Brat prince-like, befitting of his appearance. And now, there was a vein of such deep emotion underneath it... Obi-Wan rolled back over. Xanatos immediately claimed his mouth, kissing him fervently, his hands digging into Obi-Wan's shoulders, manicured nails biting into flesh unconsciously. He finally pulled away after Obi-Wan yelped at the pain to his still-mending shoulder.

"I'm sorry, love," Xanatos half-apologised, kissing the offended shoulder over a crescent mark from his thumbnail, violently red in contrast with the light skin.

"It's fine." That small pain could be borne. It was the aching gash in his heart that could not be. He looked into Xan's eyes as they once again seemed to be sightlessly soul-gazing, almost black for the pupils were dialated so widely. Xan's eyes were so different to him. So...cold, almost. Emotions could not be easily read from them. Obi-Wan swallowed, then nervously asked a question that was burning him: "Xan... Do you promise...do you promise not to hate me when I leave?"

A kiss, consuming and amazingly gently -- almost rueful -- was given in lieu of a reply. Obi-Wan saw it for what it meant:

_  
_

No.

\-------------------------------

Their days were spent in passion and dalliance, hardly leaving Obi-Wan's room for anything save maybe a midday meal in the tavern below. They were inseparable. Obi-Wan glimpsed their reflection in the wide mirror at the end of the stairs as they went to midday meal five days before he would have to leave. Xan had his arm around his shoulders, and he had his arm about Xan's waist. The fallen Jedi was whispering some sweet-nothing in his ear, raven-black hair falling across his face to caress against Obi-Wan's own cheek. Obi-Wan's civilian garb was of earthen tones, Xan's, of course, all in black. It seemed that morning they had grabbed the other's shirt, Obi-Wan clothed in the shimmersilk black, Xan in the brown and olive of Obi-Wan's tunic. But neither out of place. It seemed fitting. For a passing moment, Obi-Wan fancied they weren't who they really were: he was not an aspiring Jedi padawan, Xan was not the fallen Jedi of the Dark. They were just a couple, perhaps just well-off, perhaps even royal wherever they were from. And loving and enamoured in the presence of each other. It was a lovely tale, especially drawing to him for the bits of truth within it. The details were true, if the greater facts were not. Then Obi-Wan blinked, and trth came back to glare at him. He turned away from it.

His nights and days were blurred, the entire time just one endless moment. The greatest moment in his life. A moment of learning that true love could be more than just a hypothetical phrase. Learning how it felt to find the other part of your heart. Learning new ways that love could be expressed physically -- some of which Obi-Wan was sure were illegal in parts of the galaxy, and most certainly not proper for a Jedi to partake in -- and most assuredly not initiate. And he learned that not having any expectations, past returning love and accepting it, and not having to adhere to a code, was a wonderful liberty.

He learned every inch of Xanatos deCrion -- physically, mentally, spiritually, and allowed Xanatos the same. He committed every detail to memory, wishing to brand them in his mind if only to reassure that he would never forget. What made Xan happy, what made him angry, even what made him sad. The texture of his skin, the white porcelain colour of it. The feel of his black hair. Silken and falling in waves to his broad shoulders. Sort of rough in the patch that spread lightly across his chest, and the trail that led down from his navel. The raised smoothness of the broken circle scar upon his cheek. Other scars that decorated him, made him. The stories behind every one, and other tales. The fullness of his lips. Obi-Wan noted and listened to every detail, eager to learn and know them all.

Xanatos learned as well. Obi-Wan's openness with him almost unnerved the stoic Dark Jedi. And a little part of him felt bad that all of this was largely in vain. These days may have felt like forever. They may have ignored, in that seemingly endless moment, that there _was_ an end. But with every detail Xanatos learned about Obi-Wan -- his friends, what colours his chameleon eyes would change with which emotion, the scars he bore and their tales, how his eyes were slightly aslant his proud cheekbones, to how childlike and peaceful he appeared in repose -- Xanatos realised that he would lose this boy all too soon. And he would lose anything that was good within himself when Obi-Wan left. When this passionate, caring, endearing lover returned to _them,_ the higher-than-thou Jedi, and that bastard Jinn. That cold man would -- had already -- hurt Obi-Wan badly, in the same manner almost that he had Xanatos. And yet, Obi-Wan would follow him blindly, dutifully, bearing his pain in silence.

Xanatos felt rage, pity and a bit of admiration for the young apprentice. But mostly furious incredulity. What neither of them saw was that Xanatos hurt Obi-Wan as well. For there wasn't much that was more painful than realising that the one person whom you _need_ is your antithesis, and not only should you _not_ want them, there is no way for you to be together, not without some cost to one or the other.

\-------------------------------

The end of their eternal moment was nigh.

Obi-Wan dreaded the next day, when he must leave. Xanatos scorned it. But they would not waste what time they had left -- they hadn't up to that point, and it made no sense to start. For that day, they did leave Obi-Wan's room, to go to where it all had started here on Avindal -- to the fall, and the cave it hid. They swam in the pool, fooling about until they were exhausted, and sought a respite in the cave. Obi-Wan lay ion the cave floor, looking up at the bejeweled cavern ceiling. Xan suddenly came and laid beside him.

"Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Xanatos?"

"I want to mark you, Obi-Wan. So that you'll never forget you're mine." It wasn't a request, it was a statement. Xan _would_ mark him, he was just giving fair warning. Obi-Wan nodded, but still gave a bit of a jump in surprise as he felt the bite of something sharp in his flesh. Xanatos made his mark near Obi-Wan's neck, but decided to allow his young love the ability to hide it beneath his tunic. With a small blade he'd kept in his boot, Xan cut a broken circle with an 'X' inside it into the pale flesh, kissing it after he finished.

"That's not where I wanted to put it," Xan told Obi-Wan. "I wanted to mark you where everyone would see. Would see it and know you are _mine._ A mark just like mine, on your cheek, the left one. That's what I wanted to do. But you're going back to _him_." Xanatos' displeasure was evident.

"He won't know," Obi-Wan assured, touching Xan's red-coated lips. Xan leaned forward and kissed him, and he tasted the copper tang of his own blood.

"I know he won't," Xanatos said. "It would kill him if he did, and you won't have that.

Obi-Wan hated the disgust in Xan's eyes. He vowed when they returned to his room, he'd make Xan forget, to never look at him like that again, at least until he left.

\-------------------------------

Xanatos had fallen asleep, thoughts of Obi-Wan as a child in his mind, oddly enough after what they'd done. Obi-Wan lay in his arms, his head pillowed on his chest, and Xan had drifted off with that innocent image in his mind, and the tales Obi-Wan had told him of his childhood. His awkwardness. His friends and rivals. His distaste for Healers and how he never seemed to fail to end up in their clutches. Wisely, Obi-Wan had never spoken of anything relating to Qui-Gon, just as Xanatos had never spoken of the fallen initiate Bruck Chun, or of Offworld and his deeds. Obi-Wan had spoken of his friends -- the Mon Calamari Bant. Fiery, infuriating Siri Tachi. And Garen Muln. Xanatos had recalled Bruck Chun's ranting about Obi-Wan and Muln. Bruck had been jealous of Obi-Wan's dear friend. Xanatos had found it somewhat amusing, if only because he knew how important Obi-Wan Kenobi was to him, and how Bruck couldn't have gotten him, if only because of his incessant, humiliating cruelty to the boy. He dreamt of Obi-Wan never leaving. Of staying with him. Though he was loath to admit it, he could see himself changing for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

But when he woke the next morning, a ghost of a kiss upon his lips -- perhaps imagined, maybe remembered -- alone in bed, in a silent room, a flimsy folded upon the pillow beside his head, Xanatos felt his darker prediction come true. He unfolded the note and read the flowing, almost-blocky, scratchy script -- read the words: "I'm sorry, Xan. I thought it better this way. I love you. _Mo_ _gràdh sìth-bhuan . -_ Obi-Wan". That last was in Avinic -- "my eternal beloved". Despite that endearment, it was all just words writen on flimsy. Xanatos felt what was good in him leave. His heart went dark and cold. With not having that last moment, that moment to remind Obi-Wan that he was _his_ , without stealing one last kiss, without hearing that voice -- that voice saying that Avinic endearment, without seeing those eyes once more -- with not knowing that last night had truly been his _last night_ , Xanatos was hurt, and enraged. Obi-Wan had denied him the one thing that he had needed.

He had needed to at least say goodbye to that which he loved.

\-------------------

_(The lyrics in the page break are from "Androgyny" by Garbage.)_


	8. Part One: Resolved

__

\-----y-o-u---c-a-n-'t---f-i-g-h-t---t-h-e---t-e-a-r-s---t-h-a-t---a-i-n-'t---c-o-m-i-n-g-----

**Chapter Eight: _Resolved_**

" _Train him._ "

Two words. Simple words. Qui-Gon Jinn’s last words to his broken-hearted Padawan. Two words, a Master’s dying words to his student.

Last words…all of Qui-Gon’s dying words – nothing to do with his Padawan, his son of sorts. The boy he had raised to be a man for the last twelve years. All to do with the towheaded little boy he’d picked up in the desert, that he’d known for all of a double handful of days. That child’s importance above all else. _Above all else._

Obi-Wan clenched his fists. _Before me._ Over _me._ He stood alone in the empty training salle – he’d requested to reserve one. He needed to work past his residual pain – while he was making a quite admirable attempt at accepting Anakin, inside he was still in turmoil. He needed to get it out constructively, for upsetting his Padawan by coming home late after bar fights hadn’t help the matter at all, no matter if it gave him a slight release, a way for pain to be unleashed and pain deserved to be found. The meditation only made him restless. Anakin mattered above all else. And since he’d evidently – despite what amends he and Qui-Gon had made; the master’s last words had sort of pushed those sentiments from his memory – not been a good enough Padawan, a worthy Padawan, he needed to do something right.

Obi-Wan scoffed at himself as he brandished his lightsabre, the _snap-hiss_ of its ignition resounding in the quiet chamber. The blade was a shock to him. Emerald green in the dimmed lights of the salle. Qui-Gon’s ‘sabre. The blade he had struck the loathsome Sith apprentice – for everyone knew that if a lowly Padawan could defeat it, it must have been only a apprentice – his balance teetering on the Dark side of the Force. He shook his head before the visual of the memory could intrude, going back to his original tangent. _Good_. It was something he had striven to achieve since he was a child. Perfection, actually. And he’d always – to himself – fallen short. And no one, no consolation or words to the contrary, could make him believe that he had not. He had always danced on the balance, regardless of how Light everyone claimed him to be. He was naturally tainted, and all the atoning and training in the galaxy couldn’t change that.

Momentarily pushing hindering thought aside, Obi-Wan launched into his katas. He hadn’t centred himself efficiently, as he should have, but he would forge on anyways. Besides, if he couldn’t do it without being completely grounded, he was only getting it half-right.

 _What are you thinking, Kenobi? Quit this._ But Obi-Wan pushed the maddening voice of reason aside. Yes, there was a reason to be centred before initiating the katas – they were designed to better open oneself to the will and feel of the Force. It was like a focusing crystal of sorts. And without being clear-headed oneself, one could not clearly access the Force. He’d known that rhetoric since childhood.

Funny how pain twisted thoughts.

"You’re gonna fall flat on your ass, Kenobi, you keep up like that."

Obi-Wan whirled around quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in surprise as he did so. But he knew he was in no danger – he recognised the good-naturedly gruff voice. "Garen. I thought you were out on a mission."

Garen Muln unfolded himself from his leisurely watchful position at the door and walked up to his friend. "I was." There was a silence after the simple statement – a pause that once was filled with a "love" or some other endearment, or just simply the familiar "Obi". It stung a bit that it was absent, but then again, it had been – save for expected slip-ups – for the past five years. "I just got back two days ago. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I heard about Qui-Gon."

Ah, Garen. So caring, yet he could be almost painfully to the point. "Yes. I failed."

Some sort of emotion Obi-Wan was too tired to decipher flickered across Garen’s face – it was not exasperation, nor did it hold the "well, that figures" kind of emotion. Sorrow, maybe? Obi-Wan looked away. He had hurt Garen not all that long ago, but yet they remained friends – Garen still cared for him despite it.

"So you’re the Keeper of the Chosen One, huh?"

Nonchalance, just a shade from being feigned. Another trait of Garen’s that Obi-Wan knew well. _"Got a thing for the tall,_ dark _and_ deadly _handsome types now, huh?"_ The barb that those words had left in Obi-Wan’s heart had never left. He had noticed the double-edge of the words, the emphasis on the two words that cut into him. Because it was true. Because it was wrong. Because he had hurt his best friend in the galaxy for a fleeting, but undeniably consuming, completing love. He had forgotten about the brand upon his chest. And there he and Garen had been, two years after the mark had been made by a enigmatic Dark Jedi, their kissing escalating into the discarding of clothes, and there it had been. An ‘X’ within a broken circle. And every time that Obi-Wan saw Garen since then, the memory always came forth.

_"What?…" Garen traced his fingers lightly over the raised scar, disbelief written across his face. He was familiar with the significance of the broken circle. He knew to whom the mark belonged to. Qui-Gon Jinn’s fallen, murderous, manipulative apprentice prior to the man beneath him. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Epitome of all that was Light. Obviously marked – marred – by all that was Dark._

_Marked._

_Garen shuddered with the realisation of what it must mean, dragging bewildered bottle-green eyes up to sorrowful, scared bluish-green ones._

_"Gar..."_

_"Just be honest with me. It’s from_ him _, isn’t it?_ He _made that, himself, on you?"_

_"Yes."_

_The pain twisted in his gut, speared his heart. He’d choked back his sob, making it sound more of a scoff. "I…" Garen was in complete disbelief. He backed away from Obi-Wan, getting off the sofa to stand across the room, stare at the wall. Obi-Wan sat up, a wealth of pleas at the tip of his tongue, none of them forthcoming, all of them unworthy – just a bacta patch on a mortal wound._

_"_ Gar _…"_

 _The taller man turned back to his friend, eyes cast downward – he wouldn’t even look at him. "_ _Got a thing for the tall,_ Dark _and_ deadly _handsome, huh?"_

Five years. But if Obi-Wan had ever needed someone to talk to, and Bant or Siri were nowhere to be found, Garen was still there.

Obi-Wan knew that Garen was a firm believer in the ideal of "what’s past is past". He cleared his throat, powering down his – Qui-Gon’s – lightsabre. "Yes, Qui-Gon asked it of me, and I will not fail him."

Garen shook his head. "You didn’t fail him. Fuck, even when you were fucking deCrion you didn’t fail him. You’re not perfect, Kenobi – but you’re so damned close. And you don’t ever karking realise it."

Obi-Wan was surprised at those sentiments. But still… "Garen. You’re my friend. One of the closest. I don’t expect that you would see my failings as acutely as I do – and you’re wrong about when I was with Xanatos."

"No, I’m not. You left him, didn’t you? With barely a backwards fucking glance. As a good Jedi would."

"A good Jedi never would have fallen into bed with him in the first place. I should have found a way to bring him to Coruscant, have him tried."

"You’re _human_ , Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do you know what that means? Huh? It means you’re _fallible._ And I know that’s so damned hard for you to wrap your head around, but it’s true. And you are. You’ll make mistakes. Every little indiscretion you commit – it’s not like you have to punish yourself over and over for it. Let it go. You didn’t fail Qui-Gon. The bastard was failing you half the time, Obi-Wan." Garen’s clear eyes were blazing. "You needed to be loved, Obi-Wan. That’s just the kind of person you are. You’re compassionate, and you need your love returned. And he didn’t, no matter what you think. He didn't return it like you needed it. I did. Fuck, DeCrion did. Siri and Bant do. This little kid – I saw him on my way here – he told me, actually, where you were. He loves you, Obi-Wan. And you’ve been so fucking hurt and so damned hard on yourself, you’re hurting him. If you’ve ever done anything really wrong in your life, it wasn’t your little affair with deCrion – it’s not caring for this kid. Not ‘cos you told Qui-Gon you would. Obi-Wan, no one goes at an obligation with an open, full heart. It’s just that – an obligation. That’s what you see Anakin as, isn’t it?"

Obi-Wan turned away, igniting the lightsabre once more, going to continue with his katas.

"I’ll take that as a yes. But Obi-Wan – don’t. If there was anyone more like you that I’ve met in the galaxy – it’s this Anakin kid. He’s got a big heart, Obi. You can feel it a mile away, as soon as he looks up with those bantha-sized blue eyes. He’s been hurt in his life, Obi-Wan – you can sense that, too. That’s what makes him ‘dangerous’. Yeah, I’ve heard it all – it’s the Temple, Obi. Rumours and news travel at hyperspeed round here. But…you know him better than anyone Obi-Wan." There was a long pause, the salle silent save for the hum and whir of the lightsabre and Obi-Wan’s breathing as the young newly-made Knight twirled and slashed and twisted about. Garen’s footsteps were soft as he headed to the door.

"Or do you?" And then the Knight left. As the door slid closed, Obi-Wan powered down the lightsabre, letting Garen’s words sink into him. " _It’s just that – an obligation. That’s what you see Anakin as, isn’t it?…_ _If there was anyone more like you that I’ve met in the galaxy – it’s this Anakin kid. He’s got a big heart…. He’s been hurt in his life…. You know him better than anyone Obi-Wan…or do you?"_ The truth…what he hadn’t even seen as he tried to force himself to accept the boy nonwithstanding his own feelings – the truth hit him broadside:

_  
_

He’s just like me.

And oh, but he was. A hurt little boy. Only wanting to achieve – to show that he was worthy. A hurt little boy, tormented for being different. A little boy, hurt and scared – scared of himself, just wanting to love – to be loved. And even more: Anakin was a little boy taken from all that he had known – the love of a mother, the caring of a Jedi Master, thrust into a new life, with someone who had barely ever spoken to him, who avoided him like some horrible plague. _I can’t do that. He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve what I’ve gotten. I have to do my best, not just for him. For myself. For everything._

_"Train him."_

He _would_ train him. Train him to be the best – to be a shining example. And he would be the same, only as a teacher. He would prove to everyone, including himself, that any mistrust of Anakin was wrong. He would prove that any doubts they had of him, Obi-Wan, were wrong.

But he could never have known that, much later, that was exactly what would lead to every pessimistic view being right.

\-------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from "Iris" by the GooGoo Dolls.)_


	9. Part One: Beneath the Surface

_\---a-n-d---i---a-m---a-l-w-a-y-s---r-u-n-n-i-n-g--/--a-n-d---y-o-u---h-a-v-e---y-o-u-r---d-a-r-k---p-l-a-c-e-s---_

**Chapter Nine: _Beneath the Surface_**

He wanted the memory to stay as it was. All he wanted to remember was that aristocratic face, its inherent cruelty smoothed over as he lay in repose. Those full lips slightly parted as soft breath escaped them, rustling the errant section of midnight hair that fell across his face, a dark slash against the pale luminosity of his skin in the moonlight that slanted across them, hiding the mark that defined him from view.

A different person. A person he could hope to love without guilt.

A charade.

He closed his eyes. Here he was – _home_. On Coruscant, in the Jedi Temple. In his bed – once the bed of the man he couldn’t get out of his mind.

The man he knew he had wounded deeply.

He was terrified at that fact. Xanatos deCrion didn’t take well to being hurt – and that was exactly what Obi-Wan had done, knowingly. He knew what he had done. Xan had even told him – without words, but still impacting nevertheless – that he would not forgive Obi-Wan’s leaving. Because he hadn’t wanted him to leave. Because Obi-Wan could have stayed.

He still regretted coming back. He knew he shouldn’t, but oh, he did. He left without saying goodbye, face to face – he’d run like a coward, leaving the man he loved – for he did; that was a fact beyond contestation – to wake up in a cold bed, with only the ghost of a memory of his young lover beside him, and a note. Obi-Wan had poured his heart into the few words he had scratched upon the piece of flimsy, but they were still just that – words.

Obi-Wan didn’t fear Xanatos. But he did fear what Xanatos was and could do. What Obi-Wan had enabled.

One day, the Dark Jedi would want atonement. And the only payment for the pain Obi-Wan inflicted, as deemed by someone Dark… Obi-Wan shivered at the thought. It would certainly be far worse than what had actually initially been caused.

He would suffer.

Obi-Wan tossed over to his side, covering his head with his pillow, a literal representation of his current situation. Over his head. He had gotten in over his head. And now…now he was just waiting for the fallout. For the crushing wave to come down on him and hold him under – Xan’s wrath.

It had been two months. No sign…of anything from the Dark Jedi. Just…a void. Their bond that they had formed – despite his resolve not to stir that which was laying thankfully still for the moment – Obi-Wan had tentatively sent out a questing, tentative mental tendril…and met resistance. Xanatos was blocking him purposefully. Good. Obi-Wan would do the same; the bond would lay dormant, and hopefully in time, forgotten.

_“Was you trip not as restful as it was meant to be, Obi-Wan?”_ Qui-Gon had inquired upon his apprentice’s return to their shared apartments. The boy looked better, but his eyes were a bit haunted.

_“Oh, no, Master. It was fine. Avindal is a remarkable planet.”_

_“You should expect nothing less from your homeworld, Padawan,”_ the Master had commented, a little smile flitting across his face. Obi-Wan shook his head.

_“The trip was fine, Master,”_ he continued. _“Avindal was beautiful. Just a little…it got a bit under my skin.”_ Obi-Wan had thrown his pack upon the sofa, sitting down heavily beside it, raking a hand back through his short hair.

He _got under my skin. In my skin. Avindal did, just a bit – the history –_ my _history. But not just the past, my past – the history I just made with_ him. _A black spot on a shadowy path. What have I done?_ He had shut away his thoughts, then, binding them down in a mental box, and then relaxing his durasteel shields just a bit, just enough to hopefully reassure Qui-Gon that everything was fine, that he was all right. And it had seemed to work.

It frightened Obi-Wan, this entire situation. It was bad enough that he was still trying to find a balance – something he thought he may never find – in his relationship with Qui-Gon. A comfortableness. He strived to make Qui-Gon forget any failings he may had made with Xanatos, but all along the way, Obi-Wan’s own…defiant…streak had shone through, and his reflection to Qui-Gon, which would always have shades of Xanatos underlying it, would that much more strongly suggest the other apprentice, and all the hurt that went with him. Which made the master that much more wary of him, made him expect that much more of him. And Obi-Wan only wanted Qui-Gon to accept him. _Him_ , Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It wasn’t that simple. And it never would be.

Obi-Wan was not Xanatos…but now – now, part of him actually was. Obi-Wan was claimed to be one of the purest Force-sensitives the Order had ever beheld. And yet, he was cast to the Agri-Corps as a thirteen-year-old – though Obi-Wan did understand that was rather a ploy on Yoda’s part to get Qui-Gon to actually accept him. He had left the Jedi Order temporarily after that, reckless and determined that the cause he was now with was more important than what he was destined and raised to be. He’d been…so young – not naïve, but damned close. He’d watched a girl – who he had deeply respected, dare he say loved – die in his arms, only to later realise that maybe…maybe he could have saved her – had he _thought_ , had he used that training that he had turned his back on. And then, deflated and saddened, he had tried to return “home” – it had been a hard thing to persuade the Council to allow him reinstatement with probation. He had let another apprentice die to save a friend – Bruck Chun’s blood would always be on his hands, whether rightfully or not. He had let his Master’s love die. He had never quite mastered his anger and fear. He failed his training – his Master – in all these ways. And then he went and allied himself, more or less, with the one person that hurt his Master the most.

_Some great apprentice you are, Obi-Wan._

Qui-Gon seemed nowadays to rather have forgotten of Obi-Wan’s past transgressions. Like with his apprentice taking his first recuperation holiday on his own, from his first true mission on his own, the master had decided it was time to wipe the slate clean. Obi-Wan’s first solo mission had been a stepping-stone, a give-me – short, brain-numbingly simple. But his second was an actual _mission_. A sign he was growing up. Was on the path to Knighthood. He would actually be what Qui-Gon had hoped for Xanatos – a shining Jedi Knight.

Obi-Wan realised this. Realised that it made Qui-Gon immensely proud. And he was not going to lose that. He _would_ stop waking up every night with Xanatos deCrion’s Dark name upon his lips. He _would_ forget that time that they shared had ever happened, even if he would rather not. If it meant a part of him died when he bound it away forever, so be it. It was not a memory; it was a lesson. A lesson that to open one’s heart was quite foolish, for love never lead to anything good. Dalliances – fine. But love, true love…was not meant for a Jedi. It only ended in pain. He should have learned that from Qui-Gon and Tahl. But now he had that knowledge for himself. And he would remember it.

Obi-Wan had started to block out his memories of Avindal and Xanatos the night he had returned to Coruscant. It had been two months, and he had bound down everything. Every now and again, he found himself remembering Xanatos – just him sleeping, Obi-Wan’s last view of him. Xanatos innocent. Something he had never known of, but liked to fancy.

It wasn’t wrong to want that, was it? He didn’t want Xanatos anymore. He just…sometimes missed him. Missed what he didn’t know.

And always, he feared what awaited. For it may be still now, but calm always precedes the storm, as the saying goes. Just how far off the storm was, that was the question.

\-------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from “Use Me” by Garbage.)_   



	10. Part Two [Selective Acknowledgment]: "Distinguished"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Selective Acknowledgment

  
_\-----t-h-e-r-e-'s---s-o-m-e-t-h-i-n-g---a-b-o-u-t---y-o-u---n-o-w-----_  


**Chapter Ten: _"Distinguished"_**

It was hard. It had been hard. But now, almost three years had passed. Anakin and he had been on missions. He’d had to pull the boy’s rebellious, free-spirit self out of dangerous garbage races in seedy parts of Coruscant. They’d worked together as a team – rather well. Anakin had made his lightsabre. The boy now was an established Padawan.

One Obi-Wan was proud of.

His resentment had taken time to fade. Still, every now and again, when in meditation, or in a moment of frustration, that dark personality would rear its snarling head. And Obi-Wan would calmly face it and quash it.

Anakin was still just a needy little boy. Not the raggedy, innocent-looking child anymore, really – his sunny blond hair had darkened and his face wasn’t as cherubic, starting to define and promising to look fierce and proud as a man. But his eyes were the same. And every time Obi-Wan looked in those perceptive blue eyes, he saw glimpses of his late Master. He couldn’t deny that. His pain wasn’t completely diminished – he didn’t think it would ever go away; there was a lot in his past that hadn’t gone away – but it was manageable. And Anakin had spent a nearly a year and a half working so hard only to be met by a shuttered Master, seeking affection and finding a false answer. Obi-Wan was disappointed in himself at how long it had taken him to wade through his own emotions, but he was here now, here for Anakin. He was jumping straight into his role, sparing nary a backwards glance.

He had become a good Master…but something still was on his mind. The little quips and nagging comments that he’d heard – not so much recently, but enough to make him a bit self-conscious, and decide to do something about it.

\-------------------------

Anakin Skywalker sat in his room, idly twisting his most recently acquired possession – his most valued, but not most prized possession – about in his hands. Anakin wasn’t a typical Jedi – Sith hells, he was the Chosen One after all, whether all those high and mighty Jedi Masters wanted to admit it or not.

Whether his own Master wanted to admit it or not.

But his Master had given him this – as a birthday gift, no less. It was the smallest item Anakin called his own – smaller than the droids he had built and fixed and let loose upon the Temple. (They _were_ supposed to help, anyways.) Smaller than his lightsabre – which was his most prized possession. It was modelled after Qui-Gon’s (which his Master had used for a time) and Obi-Wan’s new one (which looked a lot like his old one, which Anakin wasn’t quite sure what had happened to it – it was just gone after Naboo). A shining silver hilt, and a blade of blue, just like his Master’s.

Anakin really did care for Obi-Wan, whether it was returned or not. It was returned more often than not now, but so were reprimands…and lessons…and _lectures_. Anakin sometimes missed quiet withdrawn Obi-Wan, though that Obi-Wan had hurt his feelings and kind of scared him. _Master_ Obi-Wan was really a teacher. And Anakin had never really been taught before. His mother offered advice after the fact. Life lessons, she called them. Let him act and find out himself. And that’s what he was used to; Anakin Skywalker just kind of _did._ Which, evidently, he wasn’t supposed to do. _Think before you act, Anakin._ Every time he heard that, Anakin wanted to go smash something. There’d be a planet-load of smashed things if he actually did.

This possession – smaller than even his necklace which he still secretly had, and hoped that Obi-Wan never found out, lest he get a lecture on the great Jedi rule of not having possessions (to which Anakin had wondered why Obi-Wan had kept this rock for so long, or why he kept those holos in his room, and wondered what other "non-possessions" Obi-Wan Kenobi, great Jedi Knight and strict follower of the Jedi Code possessed) – was the most important of all of Anakin’s. Because it showed, even when he was highly sceptical of the idea, that Obi-Wan cared. And it was a gift. Which Anakin had never really gotten before. Maybe twice, when his mother had had enough material and time to make him something, like the necklace. But that was from his mother. This was a gift from someone else. From _Obi-Wan._ Which Anakin would secretly admit, meant the galaxy to him.

Obi-Wan was trying to be a good, model master – but even Anakin heard what the other Jedi said, about Obi-Wan looking barely older than Anakin himself. Obi-Wan couldn’t help that, Anakin thought; it was just Obi-Wan. He was just… He blushed as he remembered the group of girls that he had overheard the other day, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over Anakin as he sparred with his best friend Tru Veld. How Anakin was " _so handsome_ " – said in that breathy, about to faint way that only girls can do. And how his Master was so " _cute_ ". Cute wasn’t the ideal word to describe Obi-Wan…but it did fit, though Anakin wouldn’t dare in his wildest dreams to say that to _anyone_. But, yeah, he had the best-looking master in the Jedi Order. _His._ Ferus Olin – his rival and describable in so many other words, none of them nice – his Master was a friend of Obi-Wan’s, and she was cute, too, except Master Tachi was pretty fierce. Anakin would be afraid to say much of anything about Master Tachi herself within hearing range or not – though he’d say plenty when it concerned Ferus and more or less Master Siri.

Anakin’s brow furrowed and he slipped the warm riverstone back into his pocket. When had he turned into such a girl? All this "whose got the cutest master" contemplation? Yeck.

Anakin heard the door to their apartment slid open and ran out, eager to see his Master. And stopped.

He had noticed it, but hadn’t really _noticed_ it until now.

Master Obi-Wan had grown a beard.

"Hi…Master," Anakin said, stuck between amazed and confused and not sure of what to think. His master _did_ look more of his age now. Which was very, very weird. He was used to seeing Obi-Wan as a big brother. Now, though. It was all suddenly different. But...

"Hello, Anakin," his Master returned the greeting, evidently oblivious to Anakin’s bewilderment. "How has your day been?"

Anakin wasn’t sure he could get his voice to work. "Um. Same." _Oh, wow, Anakin. You deserve a medal._ "Tru helped me with my Intergalactic Policies studies." Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, remembering the next big event on his agenda. "And I have competition with Ferus – sparring. In three days," he gritted out.

"You’ll do well, Anakin." Calm words of encouragement. They helped, but they also never failed to disappoint Anakin. They were said so…by rote. Or at least they seemed that way to him.

"It’s just Ferus," Anakin muttered, flopping down sulkily upon the sofa. His initial interest caught up with him again and he craned his neck to see over the low wall that divided the common room and the kitchen, where Obi-Wan was. Yep, still there. A beard. A full beard. As gingery as Obi-Wan’s hair. Anakin smirked when he remembered when he had realised Obi-Wan’s hair was longer. His Master and he had come back from a simple mission – so blasted simple he’d forgotten what it was for. Obi-Wan had caught some blasted little sickness that most people had a good immunity to – this was also when he learned that Obi-Wan was one of the most unlucky Jedi, if not the unluckiest, when it came to avoiding the Healers. But he had spent a couple of days in the Healers’ clutches – Anakin despised them as much as Obi-Wan – until he had griped enough they had let him go. He’d still been exhausted and had fallen asleep on the sofa as Anakin tried to fix something that didn’t really involve cooking (he’d almost blown up the apartment the first time he’d tried that – he’d had to eat, though, since he felt awkward in the cafeteria and at that time, Obi-Wan hadn’t been very interested in eating – and ever since he’d been wary of cooking). The young Padawan had come back, and he had noticed that Obi-Wan’s hair was a lot longer than he consciously remembered.

So he’d put it up in little ponytails with the bands he had to secure the end of his Padawan braid. Anakin had thought it was funny. Obi-Wan hadn’t been thrilled. But he’d been too tired to lecture Anakin on it.

But now. Obi-Wan had a _beard_. Only old people had those. People a lot older than Obi-Wan. Like Master Qui-Gon had been.

"Anakin?"

The boy looked up to see his Master’s blue-grey eyes taking him in. "Yes, Master?"

"Something the matter?"

It wasn’t too bad, though. Just…odd. But it worked. Anakin tried hard not to blush at the thought that ran through his head – to laugh would have been _awful_.

 _My Master looks…"distinguished"._ It was hard. Anakin had to bit his lip. "Distinguished." That was a Master Windu word. He bit his lip harder.

"Anakin?"

"No, Master. Nothing’s the matter. Just…daydreaming."

"As long as you confine your daydreaming to only _here_ , and not in class, nor on missions."

"Yes, sir." Obi-Wan gave Anakin one more look before the Padawan suddenly hurried off to his room. Anakin waited until the door was closed before laughing into his pillow. When he finally was calm he lay back on his sleep couch – which was the reason he tried as often as he could to stay in Obi-Wan’s room; sleep couches reminded him of home, and he didn’t want to be reminded of home if it meant he felt as bad as he always would about leaving his mom – and smiled.

He still had the best-looking master in the Temple.

\-------------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from "You and Me" by Lifehouse.)_


	11. Part Two: Past Within Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did tweak some of the finer details of _Jedi Quest: Master of Disguise_ and _The Shadow Trap_. I also modified Granta and Xan's ages. Granta is about ten standard years younger than Obi-Wan. (Making him five years older than Anakin.) Heh, parallels. 
> 
> Also: credit to Jude Watson: the description of Granta's eyes are straight from _The Shadow Trap_. And credit KotOR: I got the last name for Xanatos from Carth Onasi, who was from Telos and had a son training to be a Sith (and who could have lived to spawn more little badlings).

__

\-----I---s-e-e---n-o-t-h-i-n-g---i-n---y-o-u-r---e-y-e-s,---a-n-d---t-h-e---m-o-r-e---I---s-e-e---t-h-e---l-e-s-s---I---l-i-k-e-----

**Chapter Eleven: _Past Within Present_**

Anakin was growing up too fast. But then again, he'd never exactly been a little boy. Impetuous, young, but never really a _child._ When Obi-Wan realised this – and it was never a constant thing; it came and went, striking every now and again, like Anakin's own temper – he felt...well, pity for the boy, who'd never gotten a chance to be a boy. Even Obi-Wan had had a childhood. Granted, it rather ended at age thirteen, but then again, that rather was the end of _childhood_. Anakin had been in circumstances and situations most adults in the Republic had never in their worst dreams thought of. And while outwardly, the gangly teenager – who was getting taller too fast as well; he currently was to Obi-Wan's chin, and if he kept at it, would soon be taller than his master, which had a whole range of irritants that would accompany it – looked like his agemates, his royal blue eyes told differently.

Those eyes brought trouble of their own for Obi-Wan.

Once, clear blue and shining, but ever-knowing, they had reminded Obi-Wan of his late Master. Indeed, that had helped motivate him to do his best in training the boy as much as it had wounded him within the time right after his Master's death. But now, as the boy's hair had darkened, so had those eyes it seemed. Everything about Anakin was a bit darker as he got older, Obi-Wan was forced to realise. And it wasn't just because the boy's colour preference in his uniform. No, everything about Anakin...was edgy. When he was younger, it was beneath the surface. It was what had set Obi-Wan against the child in the first place – that underlying...edginess. Now, it seemed to manifest – not so much in how Anakin himself was, at least not to Obi-Wan's knowledge – Anakin wasn't any different from how Obi-Wan expected any teenager with Anakin's responsibilities would be – but that _edginess_ was definitely noticeable in the boy's appearance. His uniform was comprised of sand-coloured khaki, dark browns and black shaak leather. His hair had darkened from sunny blond to an ashe blond – funny since Obi-Wan's own hair had lost some of its gingery tint and become more of a wheat blond (with copper highlights, of course, he wasn't that lucky) – and his clear cerulean eyes had become more sapphire.

That in itself was startling.

The eyes were always Anakin – there was a certain gleam that made them distinctive from anyone else – but they did evoke others. Originally, they had reminded him of Qui-Gon.

Now they reminded him of Xanatos.

 _Xanatos._ How odd that he think of him – especially given recent revelations. Such as the glaring fact of his and his Padawan's biggest adversary and current headache was undoubtably related to Xanatos deCrion. Obi-Wan had realised it the second he saw the man's true face. Not Force-sensitive like Xan, and a void and as good at changing his appearance as a natural-born Clawdite, but the moment he saw those eyes, glinting stonily like shards of polished dark blue durasteel from beneath the windblown strands of midnight black hair, he'd known. It had all clicked in that single moment they looked at each other, Obi-Wan on an overheating swoop and the man with a missle launcher aimed at him – oh, yes, those were more traits shared: that penetrating, captivating gaze and the penchant for wanting to hurt Obi-Wan. And not to forget the wealth and the mysterious past.

Granta Omega was Xanatos deCrion's son. Obi-Wan had realised it on Haariden. Had tried to deny it, but on Mawan the bastard had admitted it, point blank.

 _"Always have a second exit plan. My father taught me that."_ That...was most definitely something Xanatos had always done. Again, dredged up from his darkest dreams, the memory of Xanatos, dark and forbidden, ivory skin swathed in black, face half-obscured by a fall of long black hair, eyes burning like the hottest parts of flame. Falling backward, the black waters of the pool closing over him. That black cloak swirling back up to the surface.

And then Granta Omega showed up on the scene, after Obi-Wan had finally thought that he had moved on. Granta had all but wooed his Padawan.

Xan's _son_. Interfering with _Anakin._

It was...Obi-Wan couldn't describe it. In a way, he felt a slight kinship with the man, though he had only been about ten when Granta was born – hadn't even known of Xanatos then. He also felt an extreme loathing, for Granta was his father's slickness multiplied – one of Xan's most fetching, but also most unnerving traits, that oily charisma – and he had it out for Obi-Wan...by going through his Padawan. Not to mention his intention of learning of the Sith and their ways.

When he and Anakin had gotten a brief moment to return to the Temple before being put on another assignment, he had dug into the bottom of the drawer of his desk. He had unearthed that scrap of his and Qui-Gon's past – so different for both of them yet so very much the same, had Xan been for Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. Loved by both, hurt by both; he'd hurt them both...loved them both, in his own ways. But it had been much more complicated in Obi-Wan's situation. And he had never let Qui-Gon know. Xanatos had had him pegged when he told Obi-Wan that the boy would not tell his Master for it would break the man's heart. Obi-Wan didn't want to disappoint or hurt Qui-Gon in anyway. Even after the man's death he still didn't.

He had stared at the holo of his former lover as a Padawan for a long time, disturbed by how occasionally besides Omega's visage overlapping with the image, Anakin's would as well.

Whatever that meant, it couldn't be good.

\----------------------------

Anakin was conflicted, to say the least.

He had gotten on with Tic Verdun. The slightly anxious but courageous scientist had ensnared him. Charming, smart. And he had engaging warm brown eyes that Anakin had found himself thinking about.

But Tic Verdun wasn't real. Just a façade, a disguise of an enemy. A ruse he had wholly fallen for.

He'd been close to a man who bode ill – Granta Omega – for so long, not even knowing it. Granta Omega, currently high-ranking on the threats to the Jedi list. A void, not Force-sensitive, but obviously very, very – unnervingly – knowledgeable on the Jedi, as well as the Sith.

A man who obviously had something against Master Obi-Wan. And who was the son of Xanatos, who Obi-Wan must have known, evidently, because Omega thought Obi-Wan had killed his father.

But Omega had been so nice! At least as Tic. And even when his true identity had been revealed...Anakin still couldn't completely _not_ like him. He'd been so... Anakin pounded his fist against the top of his desk as he continued pacing across his room. It seemed that when they had gotten back from Mawan, both he and Master Obi-Wan had been in their own little worlds.

Part of Anakin resented that. Most of him was too depressed and conflicted to care.

On the mission to Mawan, Master Yaddle had been killed by Granta Omega, part of his strategy to impress some Sith Lord.

Master Yaddle's death had been Anakin's fault.

The details didn't matter. The intricacies did not matter. Kark the finer points. Kark all the rationalities. It came down to that simple conclusion: Anakin's fault.

And he had _seen_ it. He'd bloody had a vision about it. And had not heeded it. Had not tried to stop it. Anakin still shook at that realisation. He _saw_ things. That wasn't a new concept to him: he'd seen things before they happened a lot as a child – how else would he have stayed alive in podracing? But he'd always seen little things – what to dodge, when to turn, when to boost, when to slow down. Even felt it if there was a crash or explosion of another racer up ahead. That hadn't mattered to him. This, though – Master Yaddle's death – mattered. She had been a Council member. She had been one of the few that Anakin had felt accepted by – he didn't even feel that accepted and comfortable around Master Yoda (and supposedly the venerable Master was the one who gave almost everyone the benefit of the doubt. Anakin supposed, with a twist of his lips, that he was the "almost".)

He'd seen her die. He didn't want to do that, ever again. He hated it.

And Master Obi-Wan hadn't listened to him yet. He'd gone and stowed away in his room. So Anakin had done likewise. It wasn't a good thing, this time apart. Anakin supposed he should meditate. But he'd never been able to do that well. He didn't _calm_. He didn't centre. That didn't help Anakin. He was a person of action – he needed to _do_. He needed to talk, to find his way through with help, with words. He couldn't do it on his own.

He didn't trust himself to.

So Anakin avoided the memory, locking it away, and once again, Granta Omega's image intruded into his mind. Black long hair, waving in just the slightest. Big, engaging blue eyes. Everything about Omega had been engaging.

And he had understood. He had _understood so well._ That was what had kept Anakin from fully disliking the man. Besides his attractiveness and his charisma...aspects of his childhood almost mirrored Anakin's own. He had understood what it was like to watch his mother toil and toil, working to give him everything with in her power, while she herself was worn ragged. Understood the confusion over the Force, though he himself didn't use it. Understood the frustration Anakin felt. Understood his irritation with Obi-Wan even.

Anakin stopped his pacing. He couldn't stay cooped up. He had to get out. Tru was off on a mission, so there wouldn't be any friendly banter to distract his mind or sparring to ease his tension. He could practise. He should meditate.

Instead, as Anakin walked down the halls of the Jedi Temple, he found himself heading to a place he rarely went: the Archives.

\----------------------------

He avoided Madame Nu like the plague. He didn't care for the old crone. His mom had once told him that everyone in the galaxy had an opposite. Well, Madame Nu's opposite must have been Jira, because the old lady back home on Tatooine had been benign and motherly. Madame Nu was all about her books and quite sharp.

The Archives meant studying. The Archives meant stillness. Those were two things that Anakin didn't do by choice. But the Archives also held many wonders: wealths of information. That intrigued Anakin...he just didn't like the leg work – or the mental work, as it were – required.

Anakin wanted to know about this phantom, this dead guy Xanatos from Obi-Wan's past. Obi-Wan wouldn't talk about it, Anakin was certain. He didn't even have to try. Obi-Wan didn't much talk about his past. Just said his youth was rather ill-spent, he made some impulsive choices, gotten into many rough spots, and had always managed to land in the Healers' Wing. But he would never elaborate. Once, when he was younger, Anakin would have rearranged the systems in the galaxy singlehandedly just to hear a story of Obi-Wan's youth, what it was like to be raised as a Jedi But he had finally realised that those tales were not forthcoming and had, not accepted, but settled with the situation.

Anakin typed in the name, misspelling it, but trying again with an "X" and receiving a notice of one file matching the request:

**_Onasi, Xanatos_ **

Intrigued, and hoping this was who he was looking for, Anakin opened the file. His dark eyes eagerly devoured what little information there was to be had, the standard information that any Jedi – or anyone with standard information-gatherers – could receive.

**_Name: Xanatos Onasi Birthplanet: Telos Species: Human Sex: Male_ **

_Well, at least I know I'm on the right track,_ Anakin sighed. The age dated the man as seven years older – just about – than Master Obi-Wan. The rest of the information matched him with Granta Omega.

**_Eyes: Blue Hair: Black Height: on record Weight: on record Medical Information: on record_ **

_Damn,_ Anakin silently cursed. He had wondered about what the man's Force-sensitivity had been like. Omega had made Xanatos sound like a grand Force-wielder. Anakin wondered if it had just been missing-hero worship. Anakin should have known that information like that was kept secure. Still, he'd hoped, just a bit. He continued:

**_Age of Initiation: 4_ **

_Hmm,_ Anakin noted _. That's older than usual. Typically they don't allow anyone past age three: I heard that enough karking times after my initiation and apprenticeship to remember it._

**_Apprenticeship: Yes │ To: Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn_ **

Anakin's jaw dropped. It dropped even further at the next bits of information:

**_Knighted: No \-------------------------------- Additional Information:_ **

**_Alias(es): Xanatos deCrion -only known-_** **_Status: Fallen. Turned to the Dark and left Order. A considerable threat; not to be underestimated, due to knowledge as well as inheritence._**

**_-Update-: Deceased._ **

So the man had been a Jedi. Not just any Jedi. _Master Qui-Gon's_ apprentice. Before Obi-Wan.

And he had _turned_. Anakin's eyes gazed about the bronze busts lining the shelves. The Fallen Twenty. Master Dooku, whom Anakin had been surprised to learn had been Qui-Gon's master, had recently joined those ranks. This Xanatos wouldn't be among them, though. He hadn't reached Knighthood before he had left the Order to pursue the Dark side. It made Anakin wonder. It made him wonder about a good many things. First, he wondered why Xanatos had turned. It couldn't have been because of Master Qui-Gon. Yes, Anakin had seen firsthand that the late maverick Jedi could rub people the wrong way – before they had returned to liberate Naboo, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had rather opposed each other. But that was because Obi-Wan was so damned adherent to the Code. This Xanatos must not have been. Qui-Gon should have been a fair match. What had it been, though, that had sparked the intent to turn? Second, he wanted to know why Xanatos had been accepted at age four. Third, he wanted to know what Xanatos had been like. He really did. Then, he wanted to know, straightforward, how Xanatos had died, because Granta Omega had his beliefs, and Obi-Wan's story differed. They both came to the same conclusion, the one that Anakin had before him. But he wanted details.

It also made Anakin wonder about the Jedi Order. How many apprentices turned? Did Initiates? What happened to them? Surely not everyone made apprenticeship – what about them? Tru had tried to tell him once, and Ferus had probably insulted him about it, but Anakin's disdain for most of the Council's – what he deemed – stupid rules made him tune out usually.

There was one person who could easily inform Anakin of just about all of this. _Obi-Wan._ Anakin sat back in his chair, the blue illuminated data becoming emblazoned in his mind. Master Obi-Wan's shields – strongest damned shields in the galaxy – were up more than usual. Anakin had the inkling that something was up. He wondered what. Part of him dared to fancy that perhaps Obi-Wan would tell him, would just come out and say it. But he knew that wasn't likely to happen, as Obi-Wan was stubborn about standing on his own. Anakin wanted to tell Obi-Wan what was on his mind. But he wouldn't either, for he was the same.

But he wished he felt he could. Part of him resented – and part of him ached because of – this space between them. He just didn't know which he felt more. And wondered if Obi-Wan ever felt the same?

\----------------------------

_(The lyric in the break is from "Breath" by Breaking Benjamin.)_


	12. Part Two: A Certain Point of View

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**Chapter Twelve: _Certain Points of View_**

Anakin walked back to the apartment he shared with Obi-Wan. Part of him was dying to race down the halls, burst into the room, palm open Obi-Wan’s door and demand to know more about what he’d just discovered. Had Xanatos been Qui-Gon’s Padawan before Obi-Wan, or had there been another – or other – padawans in between? Did he know why Xanatos had left? What the hells all was _with_ Xanatos? Why did it seem that someone that should be no more than a blemish seemed so damned vital? Obi-Wan knew worlds more, Anakin was certain. And he’d get Obi-Wan to tell him. One way or another.

But that was Scenario One, the whole upfront demanding validation and information. Scenario Two had him waiting until Obi-Wan emerged from his room and Anakin simply asked him – calmly and respectably – about it. Serene. Collected. Polite. All Obi-Wan wished and expected of him.

There was something about this that wasn’t making Scenario Two very feasible for Anakin right now. All he could see in his mind, the thoughts whirling through and about it, was Granta Omega’s face – those kind brown eyes he had had as Tic Verdun deepening to become Padmé’s, which made him feel warmth and longing inside. And then the blue eyes, those of the true Granta Omega. Engaging and deep, sharp blue. And those full lips twisting into the most…captivating smirk, then broadening into a charismatic smile. It made him shiver, and smile himself at the same time. It wasn’t like when Obi-Wan smiled at him for an accomplishment, but the reaction it got from Anakin himself was close – only…darker.

The fact that that sensation wasn’t all bad unnerved the young apprentice some, got under his skin. He hated that. That was why he was so irked by Ferus Olin. (That, and the bastard’s galactic-sized superiority complex.) Ferus got under his skin, but at least Ferus’ getting under Anakin’s skin was wholly annoying. Ferus made Anakin want to punch him. Granta Omega made Anakin…shiver.

Then Anakin would see the face upon the data he’d reviewed today. Much like Granta – younger, since the holo was taken when Xanatos was apprenticed. Same blue eyes. There was an edge to them that Granta lacked, though, and a confident vibe that, while Granta was most certainly confident, his was worked up to. Xanatos looked like he was born to own the galaxy. Xanatos’ eyes held a calculating, evaluating look. That made Anakin squirm. Too much like slavers and other _slimos_ in the galaxy – only worse. He wasn’t the type to own people; he was the type to use them.

Qui-Gon would have never taken him on as an apprentice. Not if he could tell what Anakin could. But he had.

He _had_ to know about Xanatos. Everything.

\---------------

“Master Obi-Wan!”

The holo almost seemed to jump out of his hands as he started badly at the loud call from his apprentice. _Sith spit._ Obi-Wan thought fast (though he’d later admonish himself for the juvenile placement): he barely had the pillow looking inconspicuous with the holo underneath it when his door slid open.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and adopted his best “stern master” pose.

“Master, I need you to tell me about Xanatos,” the teenager burst out. Obi-Wan hoped that the slap that those words felt like to him did not show across his face.

“You need me to reiterate firstly about basic manners, I believe, my young apprentice,” Obi-Wan said sharply, diverting his surprise into severity. Anakin inhaled deeply, his fists clenching and eyes narrowing. There Obi-Wan went again, unreachable and strict. And there _it_ was, that dangerous edge, that raw anger and frustration Obi-Wan had tried so hard to get him to master.

“ _Anakin._ ” It was soft, almost a growling warning. Obi-Wan would not indulge his temper tantrums. He would not punish him for them, either. Not if Anakin showed he had the decency to keep himself in check and control of himself. _A Jedi cannot be ruled by his emotions._ A piece of Jedi rhetoric that seemed to be Obi-Wan’s mantra for his apprentice. Anakin didn’t like it – this mandatory stoicism – but he _was_ a Jedi now, and had been for five years. There were rules to follow, or at least be guided by; he couldn’t always just look for the loopholes. Or point out the hypocrisy.

The fifteen-year-old hung his head after taking a deep breath. “Sorry, Master,” he mumbled.

Obi-Wan inclined his head, and made no mention of the subject of Anakin’s initial outburst. “Accepted – but on the condition that you _will_ meditate for a full hour tonight. With me. Understood, young one?” Obi-Wan’s mouth snapped shut as soon as the endearment left it. He had called Anakin “young one” several times before, of course, but only now had he connected it back to his own past. Qui-Gon had always fittingly called him “Little One”; Xanatos had used the other.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin replied, not noticing anything. Obi-Wan quickly regained inward composure. Outwardly, he had never lost it.

“So what has you so desperate for instant validation that you forgot what respect was, Anakin?”  
Anakin _hated_ when Obi-Wan went on like that, even if it was jokingly. Anakin fixed the older man with a level, opaque gaze.

“Tell me about Xanatos, Master.” The following pause was deliberate. Then, softly – and a bit grudgingly: “Please.”

Obi-Wan did not want to approach this. He never wanted to mention Xanatos deCrion in detail aloud again. He sighed and looked toward the Coruscanti midday traffic to be seen outside his window. “Whyever for, Anakin?”

Anakin balked. “ _Why?_ ”

Obi-Wan swung his sandy-haired head back toward his apprentice at the boy’s incredulity.

The boy continued, almost absurdly outraged: “Why. Maybe because the fact he’s the driving reason behind Granta Omega’s vendetta, Master – against _you._ Maybe because I found out that he was _Master Qui-Gon’s_ apprentice. That he didn’t become a Knight – because he _turned._ I just want you to fill in the gaps for me, Master. I want to know why he’s so damned important – so much so that you won’t talk to me and that Omega tried to _kill_ you.” _I want to know so I can protect you, Master Obi-Wan. I want to know so I can focus on Granta Omega’s motivations and not just him_ , Anakin finished silently to himself.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, letting Anakin’s tirade wash over him. The boy had never been one to go at anything half-heartedly: he always told what bothered him bluntly. How in Sith hells had he found all this, though? _Temple records_ – of course. _With Knight-level clearance._ Obi-Wan knew the boy had learnt the passcode within a year of his arrival. It was second nature for him to log in with it.

“I heard what Granta thinks, Master. I heard what you said. I just want to know why he’s such a big deal. Why Master Qui-Gon accepted such a bad person. Why he was allowed to be initiated at a late age.” _I need to know that I’m not as much like him as it can be construed._ As Anakin laid it all before his master, it unnerved him to discern the depths and reasons behind his concern. Not until speaking it had he consciously realised that he was afraid of _being_ Xanatos.

“You’ve made you concern clear, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, halting the boy’s speech.

“Will you tell me?” _This truly is bothering him,_ the Jedi Master noted, surprised.

“Patience, Anakin, is a great virtue you’ve yet to grasp.” Anakin hung his head again at the admonishment. Obi-Wan often disliked coming down on his apprentice like that, but it was necessary. He _must_ learn. “Despite that,” – Obi-Wan couldn’t believe he was acquiescing to this – “I’ll tell you what I know, if you really think that will ease your mind.” If Anakin hadn’t looked so truly disturbed by everything, Obi-Wan didn’t think he would have given in.

Anakin looked noticeably appeased and sat down on the foot of Obi-Wan’s bed. Damn, why did the boy have this unnerving need for closeness? It was innocuous – he was just sitting on the bed, maybe half a metre space between them, so not too close – but Obi-Wan had always been unsettled by how Anakin always seemed to like to be near. From the first nights after Naboo, to now. Always at the moment when Obi-Wan wanted him furthest away (right now, Anakin out about the Temple with his friends and this whole Xanatos obsession not on his mind would have been blessed), Anakin always came closer. As he was now, those sapphire blue eyes – which didn’t aide matters in the slightest – intent. Obi-Wan knew quite well the imperviousness of his mental shielding, but somehow, Anakin’s intensity and close proximity always made him feel that much more vulnerable.

Obi-Wan had only spoken about Xanatos in detail once after his disastrous night with Garen, ten years ago. Quinlan Vos had rounded on him the next day. Quin had backed him into a corner and quite simply announced, _“Either you tell me what’s up with you and Garen, or I get the imprint off of you.”_ Obi-Wan had known how traumatic Quinlan’s psychometry could be for him, and he really didn’t wish to be the cause. Telling him had been the easiest path. Since then, though, only Garen mentioned the Dark Jedi, intermittently and trivially.

Until Granta Omega had cropped up. Now Anakin wanted to know about Xanatos. And Xanatos was the last person Obi-Wan wanted to speak of – with Anakin, specifically.

It was impossible to ignore that his padawan and the Dark Jedi were quite alike. Anakin was like the Xanatos that Obi-Wan had loved.

He could do this. He was a Jedi Knight: a mark of a good Jedi was one’s ability to remain impartial. And he would.

“Xanatos deCrion was Qui-Gon’s second padawan – but he’s often the only one besides myself that anyone recalls.”

“Because Xanatos turned, and you were his padawan still when he was killed,” Anakin stated simply, having the grace to look sad at the mention of Qui-Gon’s demise. His brow furrowed. “The Records said his last name was Onasi….”

“It was. He adopted deCrion after what happened to his father.” DeCrion had been all that Obi-Wan had ever known him as.  
Obi-Wan knew what Anakin would say before he had even finished speaking. “What happened?”

“His father was killed before him,” provided Obi-Wan simply and pithily.

Anakin’s brow furrowed. “And that’s why he turned. But how does this all connect back to you, Master? It seems to be more than just he was Qui-Gon’s padawan. And – wouldn’t Xanatos have gone after the person who killed his father?”

“He did.” Obi-Wan resisted his habit of pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Qui-Gon was the one who killed Crion Onasi. Crion was the governor over Telos – though he reigned like a tyrant king. Qui-Gon and Xanatos were dispatched to bring Crion in for crimes against his planet and his people. If Xanatos completed the mission successfully, then he would become a Knight.” It was a rather cruel set-up, Obi-Wan believed. But the Council seemed to favour it. The theory seemed to be: “Wait until we have the most emotionally upsetting episode in the padawan’s life, and if they don’t go to the Dark, off the deep end, or kill themselves, let’s make them a Knight.”

“That’s a helluva Trial.” Ah, Anakin, ever quick to sum things up.

“Language, Padawan,” Obi-Wan reprimanded off-handedly. He was looking ahead, lost in memories and contemplations, picking carefully a path that just skirted the edges of the deepest truths. “He would have been the youngest Knight in the history of the Jedi.”

“They knew he would fail.” Anakin’s voice was flat. Obi-Wan looked over at him. His apprentice’s mistrust of the Council was not unmissed by him, though – however not as misplaced as it “should” have been – it was perturbing.

“One could infer that,” Obi-Wan offered noncommittally. “But as it was, his father refused to go along peacefully, Qui-Gon fought him, and he was killed. And Xanatos set himself against the Jedi.”

“Why did Master Qui-Gon want him in the first place? He was _bad,_ Obi-Wan. I saw it.”

“The galaxy is not just bad people and good people, Anakin. It would be beneficial to keep that in mind. There is much in between, and even more behind it all.”

 _Karking cryptic Jedi advice,_ Anakin thought venomously. That was the kind of Jedi standard stuff that made Anakin want to whack Yoda upside the head with the little troll’s gimer stick.

“Don’t minimalise and over-simplify, Anakin. It may make it more cut-and-dry to go at, but it is ultimately a disadvantage.” Obi-Wan at least offered a plain-worded explanation. Sometimes.

“He was still a bad man, Master.” Anakin crossed his arms stubbornly. Xanatos Onasi was evil, and nothing would sway him.

 _But not inherently so,_ Obi-Wan thought, finding it a bit disconcerting, this pain he felt at his apprentice’s obvious vehement disapproval and dislike of Xanatos. He sighed. Let Anakin think as he would. It made it simpler to leave things out.

“So how’d he die?”

“Xanatos chose better to let Qui-Gon suffer with the believe he had driven Xanatos to his end, than give the satisfaction of Qui-Gon apprehending him, much as he had been sent to apprehend his father almost four years earlier. “

There was a silence between them for a heavy moment. Then Anakin spat out quietly, though it split the still air in the room: “Coward.”

“People do what they feel is the most valid course. Sometimes it’s ‘right’, sometimes it’s ‘wrong’ – but to them it is what was needed.”

“That’s stupid.”

Obi-Wan normally would argue with Anakin on this point. He didn’t, though, this time. Which set off something in Anakin’s head. There was more to this. What had Obi-Wan just said, moments ago? “ _There is much in between, and even more behind it all.”_

Anakin had a feeling this was a case in point. And he’d figure it out. He’d understand why Xanatos was such a big deal if all he did – according to Obi-Wan – was turn to the Dark, be a bad guy, and off himself to hurt Master Qui-Gon.

“Anything else, Padawan?”

“What about Granta Omega?”

“He’s a disappointed, hurt child at heart, Padawan. Those emotions that drive him are what make him dangerous. His tantrum is far more conniving than any child’s, though. He’s a threat, and will be dealt with. He won’t succeed.”

“He does have a right to be, though,” Anakin said. It wasn’t defending Omega – not really, though he did empathise a bit with the man – but it was more a calculation of Obi-Wan’s reaction. “I mean, his dad left and his mom on a colony just to be a bad guy and kill himself to get back at the Jedi.”

 _I wish that was all there was to it._ Xanatos had never mentioned a son. But Obi-Wan did understand that – while not completely bad, as Anakin believed, Xanatos deCrion was capable of very bad things. And he had been unhinged after his father’s death. It made him sick to his stomach to think what that might could equal to. _We are not all of the Light, nor all of the Dark. There is bits of both in all, some more so in others._

“He’s not justified at the risk of innocent lives, Anakin.”

“But –“

“And neither was Xanatos.”

Anakin shrugged. It still didn’t even out in his head.

“Satisfied now?”

“Yeah.” _No._

“Go to your last classes; see your friends, Anakin. Don’t trouble with yourself with this; you deserve a break, Padawan.”

 _Ding! Ding!_ Obi-Wan was dismissing him – and saying to take a break. There was _definitely_ more to this.

Anakin followed his master’s advice, but he didn’t really plan on just hanging out. He was going to see what more information he could find on the outside. And then he was hoping that Obi-Wan would finally leave the apartment – because Obi-Wan had already alluded to it: There was always more truth at the heart of the matter.

\-------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from “Truth” by Seether.)_


	13. Part Two: Depth Perception

_\-----h-o-w---d-o---y-o-u---d-o---i-t---?--/--m-a-k-e---m-e---f-e-e-l---l-i-k-e---I---d-o-----_

**Chapter Thirteen: _Depth Perception_**

Anakin Skywalker sped through the halls of the Jedi Temple, subconsciously hoping that by speeding himself up, he’d speed up time. The faster he went, the sooner he could get back to the apartment, with Obi-Wan hopefully not in it.

He skidded into the Piloting Skills classroom just off the hangar bay to find himself right on time for a change and made his way to a seat next to his best friend.

“He’s not here yet,” Tru said, smiling his greeting but jumping into the conversation that hadn’t quite started yet – as always. Sometimes, even though he’d known Tru Veld for five years now, Anakin had trouble initially following any conversation with him.

“Who? Master Garen?” Anakin gave a look round despite Tru’s information.

“Master Garen’s away ‘til tomorrow, Anakin, remember?” Tru rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance, but Anakin didn’t think the smile playing at his best friend’s lips was strictly humour. Jesting humour, anyways.

“Oh, yeah.” Garen had come by the day before he’d left. Anakin had completely spaced it – he’d only caught Master Muln as he was heading out to leave after talking to Obi-Wan.

 _Hmm._ There was an idea on who might know about Xanatos Onasi, and what Obi-Wan _wasn’t_ telling him. He’d go to Garen if he was back tomorrow.

“So who’s covering?” Last class, Plo Koon had substituted.

The ghost of a smile broke full out across Tru’s face. Anakin quirked an eyebrow.

“His brother,” replied Tru.

\----------------------

Obi-Wan decided as the apartment door hissed shut behind Anakin that it was time for him to leave his safety net. He didn’t need to be falling back into old habits, especially when it came to Anakin. He didn’t think that the boy would ever truly forgive him his actions their first few weeks together; Obi-Wan knew he didn’t forgive himself of them.

One of the hardest principles of being a Jedi was letting go of that which you were attached to. Obi-Wan knew he should do that about Xanatos, but part of him was quite convinced it wasn’t possible. So he would do as he had for years, and distance himself from it.

His thoughts were swirling madly. He knew Anakin was not placated by the response and information he had been given. And that fact, coupled with the knowledge of just how Anakin was – curious to the point of reckless – made Obi-Wan utterly paranoid.

Just another lovely side-affect of being Master to Anakin Skywalker. The child would be the death of him.

He had muttered as much under his breath during the stroll through the Temple he found himself on, Luminara Unduli walking with him. They had bumped into each other outside their common haunt of the Star Room.

“You don’t need to stand around in there, Obi-Wan,” she had told him. And as always, she was right.

Luminara Unduli was a couple years his senior, and while he had had Diplomacy classes with her as an Initiate, they only formed a close friendship since his Knighting and becoming Anakin’s Master. Besides from his childhood mates (and true compassion had only come unconditionally from Bant Eerin), Obi-Wan had only received the customary condolences and congratulations from everyone else. But when he couldn’t face the truth of Garen, Siri and Quinlan’s double-edged sympathy and Bant’s felt obligated to him, one night in the Temple’s Star Room, he had run into Luminara Unduli. And her honest empathy had shaken him to the core.

_\----------------------_

_Obi-Wan stood in the silent, round room, hands behind him. All was still but the turning of the miniature planets and the twinkling of the pinprick lights meant to be stars. So many stars. So many planets. How many had he been on?_

_Unconsciously, Obi-Wan’s gaze and soft steps were taking him on a pre-programmed flight course. Beginning at the little desolate orb marked as Bandomeer…a couple more planets, and he was at the one formerly known as Melida/Daan. Gods, how it hurt to remember that place, remember the people and the events. His actions. Handing over his lightsabre, renouncing his apprenticeship, his Jedi status._ …Cerasi….

_Then his gaze fell upon Telos. He knew the planet flourished now, though scars of Xanatos’ endeavours could still be found there. Unconsciously, he looked down at his chest, where the scar Xanatos had branded him with still was, and ever would be. The desperate sorrow that had captured him, and the stunned disbelief and hurt that had struck Qui-Gon. Xanatos had always been the shadow Obi-Wan had walked in, and then he was gone, but never was he truly. The only thing worse —_

New Apsolon. Tahl. _Tahl had died, and Obi-Wan had almost lost Qui-Gon to the Dark that had swept away Xanatos. And he was to blame. He never really got over that, and he knew Qui-Gon hadn’t. His Master loved him, he knew, but there was always that resentment deep down, over Tahl._

Deserved. _And so it was._

 _A blue-grey planet, he alighted on next._ Home. Avindal. _He closed his eyes a brief moment before continuing on._

 _Finally his eyes travelled from the dust bowl that was Tatooine and landed on a peaceful blue and green orb._ Naboo. _How could a planet so innocuous, so serene…how could it be where he lost himself – everything was taken, and new was forced about him? The hologram rotated languorously, completely oblivious to the terrible tragedy that had happened upon it, of its painful meaning to him._

_She’d entered noiselessly, and but for her gasp of surprise at finding the room occupied by someone else, he might have never known she was there._

_Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up at the soft sound to meet unfathomable, wide cerulean blue eyes, set in an exotic face of light brown. They had stood, for a long moment, simply looking at each other, through the sheer representation of the galaxy between them. (The irony wasn’t lost on Obi-Wan.)_

_Finally, despite how he felt, how much he wanted to stay alone, he felt the need to be chivalrous and break the silence and allay the shocked embarrassment and unneeded apology in those large eyes._

_So inanely, he said, “Your hair’s lovely.” It was something that really didn’t matter, though he – and he was willing to bet not many others – had never seen Luminara Unduli without her customary headdress._

_She smiled, though, and came round to stand beside him. Her eyes found her homeworld, a bit a ways from Naboo._

_“I thought I was the only one who had this habit,” she said softly. Obi-Wan waited for her to explain._

_Luminara inhaled deeply, straightening and gazing ever more intently at her homeworld. “I think Master Sulariu found it an honour to die upon Mirial.”_

_“What happened?” inquired Obi-Wan. Still gazing at the holographic brown and green miniature, she told of her mission at age twenty with her master, Sulariu Atiora, to their homeplanet to bring a Force-sensitive child back to Coruscant. Obi-Wan knew from his diligent studies in Galactic Policies and Intergalactic Social Studies that Mirial had an interesting code involving Force-sensitives. In a few ways, it was not unlike his homeworld. But whereas Avindal was a very nature-focused planet, Mirial was highly spiritual. The brown upon the planet was more from its many burnished gold temples than anything else, it was said. Regarding Force-sensitivity, many Mirialians innately were. Those exceptional were often trained as shamans. Unless the family contacted the Temple. Even then, Mirialians were not pleased by what they deemed meddlesome outsiders. The Council had sought to minimise the raised tensions, and thus deployed Mirialian Jedi (it was another Mirialian custom that they be apprenticed to their own, as they had difficulty initiating bonds with others outside their race). The mission had been straightforward – simple, even. But the Jedi had not anticipated the ambush in the hangar bay._

_“They came from under the boarding ramp as we neared. Master Sulariu handed me the child. That is why she died. She hadn’t time to reach for her ‘sabre. She died then and there. I gave the band a Force shove, far more powerful than it should have been” – her eyes flicked to Obi-Wan; he indeed understood exactly what she meant, what that meant in general – “and I darted onboard. I put the child in the bassinette in the cabin…and then sought refuge in the cockpit. When I finally felt them leave, I retrieved Master Sulariu’s body. And then I came to Coruscant. I cried the entire way, even during contacting the Council. I handed over the child as soon as we touched down.”_

_Obi-Wan empathised with her every word only too well._

_Luminara turned to him. “It takes time, Obi-Wan. And yet it still will ache, even when true acceptance comes.” She looked back to Mirial._

_“What ever happened to the child?” he asked, curious, after he had absorbed her sage words. Her soft smile surprised him, and she didn’t answer him directly at first._

_“Don’t lose what is left of your master, Obi-Wan. I learnt this. It was a valuable lesson, though it took time to accept it. Just don’t expect to have your master back. Enjoy what is left of them – nurture what is left of them._

_“The child was Barriss Offee. She became my apprentice two months ago, the day she turned nine.” Cerulean drew him in again…and he was rather shocked to find himself drawn into a warm embrace. He was even more shocked as she wiped a tear from his face after pulling away._

_“We’re never perfect, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but always adequate. Always. Remember that, even when it seems it’s not enough. It will be. Good night, friend.”_

_\----------------------_

Obi-Wan found himself returning to her words more and more often as the years with Anakin progressed.

“It would not take any special skill for someone to see that there is much on your mind, Obi-Wan. Besides the fact you seem to believe your Padawan will run you to death.” Luminara smirked, her voice gentle and cajoling, but commanding nonetheless, as always.

“Sarcasm is most unbecoming of you,” Obi-Wan told her. He sighed when she only smiled and told him she learnt it from him.

“A recent foe is plaguing me. And what he means to me,” Obi-Wan muttered distractedly. He only trusted Garen with the full truth and details of his liaison with Xanatos (though Quinlan and Bant also knew that it had happened). And while he had much trust and faith in Luminara, he did not wish to impart this to her. His relationship with her was much like his relationship with Siri – and while the fierce blonde knew as much about him as Bant or Garen, who were like part of him, she did not know about his dalliances. Neither would Luminara.

The Mirialian Master arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“He’s the son of Qui-Gon’s former apprentice Xanatos. The one that turned to the Dark side. The one that died on Telos” Figuratively, that was true, the Xanatos he had met five years later had been far more controlled – saner…though Obi-Wan expected he didn’t stay that way after Avindal.

“Ah.”

“Yes. His son, Granta Omega, holds me above all responsible for the loss of his father. He wants Anakin to study the Force, and the fact that my Padawan can empathise with him is worrisome.”

“Ever the one wanting to right past wrongs and help others in need, our young Anakin.”

“Ever the one wanting to liberate and help the oppressed, as well as correct any injustice committed against them, by any means, to be more accurate. To the extent of being so blinded by his own motivations that he misses what may lie beneath it all, I’m afraid.”

Luminara chuckled softly. “For all his open-hearted and honourable intentions, he does tend to get a bit overzealous and single-minded, doesn’t he?”

 _The path to the Dark side is paved with the best of intentions._ “I worry, Luminara.”

“Don’t we all know.” She smiled gently. “And doesn’t everyone themselves.” They came to a stop before the grand central staircase in the centre first level of the Temple. Luminara took his hands, her eyes as always swallowing him. “I haven’t any knowledge on what to do, Obi-Wan; Barriss is not like Anakin. But then again, no one really is, are they?”

Obi-Wan didn’t offer a negation or affirmation of her observance.

“All I can offer is general wisdom, friend. You must trust in him, and you must also guide him. These things, I know you already comprehend. But you must also trust _him_ , Obi-Wan. And you must find the balance in it.”

 _Trust._ Luminara always had the innate ability to see to the core of a matter. She was a fit replacement for Master Yaddle.

“Thank you.”

Her smile was bright. “I am only too pleased to help, Obi-Wan.”

He inclined his head in deference. “I am grateful you take the time, Master.”

Luminara laughed, automatically registering the sincerity underneath the dry-humoured tone. “Oh, Obi-Wan. Come – the Year Three Initiates are learning to swim today. Surely they can tale you out of this mired mood.”

He offered a half-smile. Maybe they could. So long as none learnt the hard way, as Anakin had. …Though the subsequent lessons after that little incident did prove at times amusing, indeed.

They had been watching the progress of the Younglings in the Room of a Thousand Fountains for only a handful of minutes before Obi-Wan’s commlink went off.

“I’ve a mission briefing,” he informed Luminara. Bidding the young ones good luck and goodbye to Luminara, he headed off for the Council Chamber.

\----------------------

Anakin hoped that he had clenched his jaw before it time to drop.

_It didn’t surprise Anakin that he had a thing about people’s eyes. After all, he had always sought the comfort of his mother’s tired eyes. He’s basked in the compassion and resolve of Padmé’s brown eyes and the conviction of Qui-Gon’s clear blue ones. His Master had the most intriguing eyes in the galaxy, he was sure – while Anakin firmly believed his mother’s saying, “Within a person’s eyes is their soul,” he always found it fascinating that Obi-Wan’s eyes revealed more about him in their colour than in just what could be found within them._

_It was the sparring competition’s youngest judge’s eyes that caught Anakin. They were a smooth blue-green, like a shade of Obi-Wan’s eyes (though Anakin personally enjoyed when they were a slate blue-grey)._

_“Hey, Tru – who’s that?” Anakin inquired, nudging his friend with an elbow and nodding in the Knight’s direction, not taking his eyes off the guy. He had a handsome face, almost unnervingly familiar._

_Tru chuckled. “That’s Gadon Muln.”_

_Anakin’s eyebrows rose. “As in —?”_

_Tru nodded. “Yup. He’s Master Garen’s little brother.”_

_Maybe that explained the familiarity. But Gadon really wasn’t all that much like Garen. Gadon had softer eyes – Garen had really intense deep green eyes. Anakin had seen the way that Garen Muln’s gaze could smoulder the air. Gadon’s hair was also truly auburn, no just red-highlighted schoko brown._

_It made Anakin pause later that night, after a fair showing at the exhibition (– he’d shown off a bit for Gadon, and had gotten a smile of approval before he was ultimate set down a notch by an older apprentice):_

_Everyone said that Master Obi-Wan and Garen Muln looked a lot alike._

_Gadon Muln looked far more like Obi-Wan than Garen did._

_And Anakin had an undeniable crush on Gadon Muln._

“You still like him,” Tru said, all but giggling.

“I still think he’s…I still think he’s really wizard, yeah.”

Tru gave him a “please-don’t-tell-me-you-expect-me-to-believe-that” look. “You still like him.”

Anakin was about to retort, but in walked their substitute teacher, ever the tousled-looking but purely kind-hearted Knight, and the young apprentice stopped.

“Ha!” Tru whispered.

“I like Senator Amidala,” Anakin shot back in a fierce, clipped whisper of his own. “Gadon’s just…something to look at.”

Tru smiled, shaking his head. Anakin had explained to him how he felt about the Nubian former Queen, now senate representative. Tru found it all endearing, if a bit dramatic.

 _“Sounds like an Alderaanian tragedy,”_ Tru had remarked. Even though Tru saw that it was romantic, he also took it as a bit fanciful, futile.

 _“This is real, Tru. I_ really love _her. And one day, we’re_ going _meet again, and I’ll tell her I love her again, and she’ll say she loves me, too, this time, ‘cos I won’t be a ‘funny little boy’ anymore. You’ll see. I_ know _it.”_

 _“And then you’ll remember you’re a Jedi and she’s a Senator, and that it’s not pursuable. But okay, Anakin. I’ll believe you if you say so. I mean, you’re the Chosen One.”_ (Anakin had never felt hurt by anything Tru had ever said, save that last statement, but then again, he wasn’t sure that the whole last of that wasn’t just a placation due to the Sith-awful glare he’d lasered his best friend with for doubting him.) Tru had sat back on sofa in the common room of his and his master’s apartment. _“Just don’t be surprised if it doesn’t, Anakin.”_

 _“It will.”_ Anakin had whispered. _“It_ will _.”_

“I won’t tell her you had the hots for Gadon Muln for a year,” Tru smirked. Anakin punched him in his flexible arm. Part of it was for teasing him over that. Part of it was because Tru was going to start his term as a senate aide, and might actually talk to her. (Anakin ran messages for the Chancellor every now and again when he wasn’t on a mission, but most of their meetings were advice sought and given, and Anakin’s insight on a planet he had recently visited, on happenings in the Temple and the like. He didn’t think he’d ever get to talk to Padmé, but he had seen her twice.) …And he hadn’t liked Gadon for that long. Yet.

He felt Gadon’s gaze on them and quickly the boys schooled themselves into composure fit for class. Gadon gave them a little exasperated look, and then returned to talking about the flight simulation they were running today, following the review he was going over.

Anakin had discovered that most Coruscanti denizens had a…what he called a “rounded” accent. He’d even started to pick up on it. Some had fuller accents – case in point: Obi-Wan – but most were just…full-bodied and easy to listen to. Gadon’s was like that. Anakin closed his eyes and listened. He knew all this forwards and backwards; he had, after all, been a pilot for almost his entire life, and was quick to pick up how to run anything that didn’t touch the ground, and some things that did.

Gadon’s voice becoming Obi-Wan’s in his mind was another thing entirely.

Anakin’s eyes flashed open. Determinedly, he focused on the words upon the checklist that had been pulled up on the projection screen.

At least he wasn’t thinking about Granta Omega, he thought to himself. _Whoops._ And that only brought him back to Xanatos, and how badly he just wanted to get this simulation over with (which was highly unusual, since Anakin frequently found himself wishing Piloting class _wouldn’t_ end) so he could run to the apartment, which he was almost positive would be empty, and see what he could find about Xanatos Onasi, and what Obi-Wan wasn’t telling him.

Anakin stubbornly pushed all these thoughts that jumbled inside his head. In his mind, he drew a heart around an image of Padmé’s face. _This is where my heart is_. He looked over the diagram of the starfighter on the screen before him. _This is where my mind is._

Or at least, those were where they _should_ have been.

\----------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from “Stellar” by Incubus.)_


	14. Part Two: Feigning Ignorance Isn't Blissful

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**Chapter Fourteen: _Feigning Ignorance Isn’t Blissful_**

Anakin walked back to his and Obi-Wan’s apartments as normally as possibly, dying to sprint there. Part of him entertained the possibility taking a quick detour and going to one of Obi-Wan’s friends for information – Siri or Bant, since Master Garen wasn’t around, and they, too, had known Obi-Wan since his childhood and should know about Xanatos as well. But Healer Bant couldn’t really be bothered, and Master Siri…was Master Siri; Anakin didn’t really want to bother her. Plus that carried the possibility of having to deal with arrogant, nosy Ferus. Anakin grimaced at the thought. 

He palmed open the door a little more roughly than at all necessary. He didn’t care; if it broke, he could fix it. Obi-Wan wasn’t home. Anakin had known it. He reached out through their bond and found his Master in the Council Spire. He wondered why, but only briefly. The fact Obi-Wan was in with the omnipotent ones meant he’d be gone for at least a fair amount of time. 

Anakin eyes went to Obi-Wan’s bedroom door. It was open. Anakin headed in. Obi-Wan worked truths from angles; Anakin found the spots between rules. Neither was supposed to enter the other’s room without invitation unless it was otherwise warranted. Obi-Wan had left his desk lamp on. Anakin _really_ thought he should turn that off for him…. 

Immediately, Anakin dove in, searching for answers, clues. He began in the obvious places first: desktop, desk drawers ( _There’s where he keeps everything of Master Qui-Gon’s…_ , he thought as he forced the lock on the bottom drawer of the desk; he'd discovered about it awhile back, but it was interesting to know Obi-Wan hadn't changed it); the dresser was next, and the closet. He thought he found Obi-Wan’s journal on a shelf in the closet, but it had a security code lock as well as a voice one. Anakin reckoned had he the time to tinker with it, he could figure out how to by-pass all that, but to do so without leaving a trace was a painstaking effort, though the journal would definitely contain what he was looking for. He hadn’t that leisure time. And, of course if he took it to try and hack it later, Obi-Wan would find it missing. He slid the databook back into its place on the shelf. 

Slightly annoyed with how fruitless his search was seeming, Anakin tossed himself down onto his Master’s bed. The memories of a few years ago crept upon him, memories of when this had been his escape – his place to come for silent comfort, snuggled up to Obi-Wan’s solid, sleeping form. He missed it. 

Something was wrong with Obi-Wan’s pillow, though. There was – there was something under it. Anakin’s brow furrowed as he sat back up to examine the outward appearance. Yep, definitely something. 

Anakin hid the only holo of himself and Obi-Wan together looking relaxed and smiling under his pillow, and a capture of Senator Amidala he’d downloaded onto a holochip from the ‘Net. What was Obi-Wan stashing under his? And _why_ , for Force’s sake? 

Anakin shook his head as he reached for the pillow. _Probably the information on some random planet we may never visit – why he does research for fun…. Master really needs to read less –_

It wasn’t a datapad that greeted him, but the back of a holoframe. Frowning some more, Anakin flipped it over. 

And almost dropped it. 

Up stared at him the face he’d pulled up in the Archives. Possibly a bit older, standing in a defensive pose, with his violet lightsabre slanted before him. In a little corner of his mind, Anakin found the leisure to muse that Master Windu’s ‘sabre wasn’t as special as the Initiates and most Knights seemed to deem it. And above a cocky smirk, dark blue eyes glinted from beneath a ruffled fringe of black. _Xanatos Onasi._

Why was Master Obi-Wan hiding this? Because that was obviously what he was doing. A hot ball of anger burned to life suddenly in the pit of Anakin’s stomach. This was not adding up. 

Suddenly disgusted – with Onasi’s lingering memory; with Obi-Wan; with everything, his own aimless doggedness – Anakin put the picture and pillow back roughly. 

What was Obi-Wan doing, and why did Anakin feel that he _had_ to know? 

Between his confusion and latent anger, he almost missed the tingle in his senses that forewarned his Master’s approach. Anakin dove out the bedroom door, waving a hand toward the lamp, flicking it off as he exited. 

\------------------------- 

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted, bowing deeply. 

“Afternoon, young Obi-Wan. A mission we have for you,” Yoda informed him. Obi-Wan enjoyed the warmness, but also the forwardness, with which Yoda had always addressed him. The wizened troll’s eyes were evaluating him though, Obi-Wan realised, and he wondered what this mission entailed. 

Mace Windu picked up the briefing. “We are dispatching you and young Skywalker to the planet Eirendel, in the Albire system.” 

Obi-Wan held his breath. Eirendel was the neighbouring planet of Avindal – its twin. The two planets had been closely tied for eons – especially in the last century when Avindal sent on of the twin heirs to the planet’s throne to preside over Eirendel since the Eirendish king had no heirs whatsoever. 

“The Senate received a distress call from the young Queen of the planet. For several years, both planets in the Albire system have been devastated by the exploits of a mining corporation years ago. They have never fully bounced back from this – Eirendel’s neighbouring planet is considered ‘lost’, taken over by unsavoury characters. But due to this stress, a civil war has erupted, and many blame the ruling family for allowing their troubles to continue, and indeed happen in the first place.” 

“The queen, Kacia Culain, just recently came into power upon her father’s assassination,” Adi Gallia picked up. “She’s desperate for this to come to an end.” 

“Target for assassination, too, the young queen is.” 

Obi-Wan nodded sombrely. 

Mace looked at him seriously. “What’s needed, Obi-Wan, is for you and Skywalker to get Kacia off-planet safely and to Coruscant to appear before the Senate for an intervention, for the corporation that caused the devastation of the Albire system is in league with the Trade Federation.” 

_Lovely._ Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Masters.” 

“Depart tomorrow afternoon, you and young Skywalker will. May the Force be with you.” 

Obi-Wan bowed and left the round chamber, striding purposefully. He welcomed this mission – it gave him focus, kept him from dwelling in the shadows of his past. But why him and Anakin? To this planet? This mission sounded a lot like the one to Naboo, and that didn’t ease his mind. 

“Obi.” 

The call came from behind him and he knew whom it was immediately. With a bright smile, he turned about as the other Knight strode up to him. 

“Welcome back, Garen.” He hugged Garen in warm greeting. Uneasiness about his mission, about Anakin, about Xanatos momentarily faded. “How are you?” 

“Having to talk to the troll and Mace nothing-short-of-perfect-will-do.” The taller Knight eyed his best friend: usually dry, witty remarks (even of low calibre) received at least a chuckle. “Obi-Wan? Something’s on your mind.” 

Obi-Wan looked away. “Come by later, Gar, please,” he requested quietly. 

Garen frowned. “Sure, Obi. Probably will be tonight.” 

“That works. Just…” Obi-Wan sighed. He didn’t want to bring Garen back into this; he knew how much it stung. But Garen was the only one he could really talk about the whole Xanatos mess with. Garen was the only one that seemed to understand Anakin as well. He shook his head. He looked back at Garen, eyes clear. “I just want to see you. We haven’t just sat about and talked in a while.” 

“You’ve been too busy with Tachi,” Garen jibed lightly. He cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek with a hand. “And you’re lying to me. But, I’ll let you. For now. Because it probably is something I didn’t want to hear. If it blows up, though, we’ll sort it. You know that.” 

“I do. Thanks, Gar.” 

The taller Knight kissed his friend on the forehead, muttering something about hating “that Force-forsaken beard.” Obi-Wan smiled. “Gotta go, Obi. I can hear Windu calling me his choosier epithets for me from here.” 

“Go on, then. Would hate for him to come up with a new one.” 

“Blast! I’ve gotta get the reports from Master Koon and Gad, too. Find out how bad my kids are for _them_.” 

"They might actually have learnt to fly within the designationsnow," Obi-Wan teased.

Garen gave a mock grimace and rushed down the hall for the lift. Obi-Wan continued for his apartment, a bit lighter than previously. 

He palmed open the door to his and Anakin’s apartment. 

"And here I thought you were deathly allergic to studies, apprentice." Anakin sat on the sofa, a datapad in hand. It was on spacecraft construction. 

“I like studies in mechanics and flights and calculations, Master. It’s not boring.” 

“You know, Anakin, one day you’re going to crash on a planet that you should have studied but didn’t and are going to regret it.” Obi-Wan took up his chair. 

“Oh, come on, Master. That’s why I’ll always have you,” Anakin grinned. Obi-Wan didn’t respond, though automatically he thought, _You hope._ He thought Qui-Gon would be around for him to talk to for longer. So much longer…. 

“So why were you in with the Council, Master?” Anakin asked, noticing how his master had grown distant. Obi-Wan blinked and looked back at him. 

“What makes you think that I was in with the Council? What is it you and Tru call them?” 

“ ‘The Omnipotent Ones’,” Anakin supplied. “I felt you there.” 

Obi-Wan was certain that he would never find himself unimpressed by Anakin’s connection with the Force. 

“So what’s up?” 

“We’ve a mission. Speaking of, you should probably get information from the Archives. We’re departing tomorrow to escort the Queen of the planet Eirendel back here. She needs to appear before the Senate to discuss an intervention, due to mining corporations’ devastating efforts that have resulted in a civil war.” 

“Sounds easy,” Anakin stated. “So, Eirendel right?” 

“Yes, in the Albire system.” 

“Okay.” Anakin got up. He didn’t want to stay about, not while Xanatos’ holo was still on his mind. He didn’t want to give away that he knew anything, no matter how little it was. 

“Going already?” 

“Yeah,” Anakin said, nodding. He was nervy, and trying hard not to be too obvious about it. “Yeah. Tru and I are checking out the fighters before everyone else tonight.” 

“Garen may be over later tonight,” Obi-Wan told Anakin as he reached the door. Anakin looked back. 

“Master Garen’s back at the Temple?” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but then again, he knew how much Anakin appreciated his friend. “Yes. He was just headed to his debriefing as I was leaving the Council chambers.” 

“Tell him – tell him I say hi,” Anakin stammered and left the apartment. As the door hissed shut behind him, he dashed down the hall for the hangar bay. 

\------------------------- 

“Anakin. You’re a bit early for class.” Garen Muln eyed Obi-Wan’s padawan as he lingered in the doorway. 

Anakin looked down at his feet away from Garen’s questioning gaze. He knew Garen was joking with him about class, but that also meant that he knew he was here for a reason. 

Garen got up and leant against the front of his desk. “You’ve picked up Obi-Wan’s shielding ability, that’s for sure.” He laughed suddenly. “You just haven’t perfected that mask of Jedi neutrality.” 

Anakin sighed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get that one down. 

Garen smiled congenially and indicated a chair with a swing-down desk before him. “Come in and talk, kid.” 

Anakin did so, and he knew while maybe he wasn’t shouting his thoughts like he had when he first arrived at the Temple, his apprehension was as noticeable as a beacon on a radar. “Can I talk to you about Obi-Wan?” 

Garen cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms. He was tempted to say, “It depends,” but he understood what being around Obi-Wan Kenobi was like, and he was one of the few that understood Obi-Wan the best. “What about him?” 

Anakin caught Garen’s gaze. The Knight recognised the motion, Anakin trying to judge if what he wanted to say was even worth it. Garen met him evenly. Anakin inhaled. 

“About Xanatos,” he said, words measured. “I want to know about Xanatos.” 

Garen hoped to Sith hells his shock wasn’t visibly noticeable, though he did bristle at the name, he knew. He had for the past twelve years. Of all the damned things in the galaxy the kid could ask…and he had to mention that bastard. 

How to side step this? “Have you asked Obi-Wan about him?” 

“Yes…” Anakin frowned. “And he told me what I know was only some of it. I could tell. It was like what you could find in the Archives. That means there’s more….” 

“And?” 

“And then I looked around and I found more. I found a holo of him in Obi-Wan’s room.” 

Not too terribly incriminating. But…frustrating. “That could have been Qui-Gon’s, Anakin. Xanatos was his padawan, and well, the falling out stuck with him for a long time.” 

“I know, I know. It probably is. But – but Master Garen – I know where he keeps Master Qui-Gon’s things. And I know he keeps it locked. This was out.” 

Garen gave the apprentice a look. “I’m not even going to ask why you go through his room.” 

“Well, if he’d’ve talked to me when I first came here, maybe I wouldn’t have started it in the first place!” Anakin had the grace to duck his head – after a moment – following his little outburst. Garen understood him all too well, though. At least it didn’t seem that the boy had done as he had once (and it had only been the once) and figured out the passcode to Obi-Wan’s personal journal and skimmed through it. His own actions had stemmed from the same one that motivated Anakin’s method of privacy invasion: a need to know what was going on with Obi-Wan, because he had this insufferable (and Garen knew it to border on self-destructive) ability to keep all that afflicted him bottled, hidden and masked within. 

“I’m not sorry for it, Master Garen.” Anakin held his chin up, and Garen recalled a littlegolden-haired boy standing in the hall after he'd pulled him from a fight with an older Initiate. The cherub look had left his face, and the hair had darkened now, giving the defiance and darker emotions that so often tore through him a harder edge.

Garen knew he was far more forgiving with Anakin than anyone else, and he did it because he understood the boy felt criticised from every other direction, even from Obi-Wan. “Well, I’m not the one that needs to be apologised to, if there was one given. And I understand what you’re saying, Anakin.” _You’ve no idea how much I understand._ “I really do. But, look, I can’t really tell you anything about Xanatos. Not about his connection to Obi-Wan. Obi didn’t even tell _me_ anything about it.” Garen couldn’t help his voice tightening; while he believed that intentionally, Obi-Wan wouldn’t – couldn’t – hurt anyone but himself, sometimes it happened unintentionally. And his omitting of his little dalliance with deCrion and how Garen had found out about it – it still cut the roguish Knight to the quick. 

“I thought – I thought out of everyone…out of everyone, maybe – “ Tears were sheeningAnakin’s eyes. Not in sadness, but in frustration. “Maybe you…I mean, you seem to be one of Master’s closest friends…out of everyone, you really know him and…and you don’t hate _me_.” 

“Whoa, kid.” Garen had knelt in front of Anakin and held him by the shoulders. “Firstly, Bant and Siri don’t ‘hate’ you. Siri…Siri is something else. She used to be best friends with this guy Bruck Chun – I don't know if you've heard about him –and then after he died, she ended up getting paired up on missions with Obi-Wan, who was there when Chun died, and who she blamed for his death. Basically, they were enemies. That’s the reason why, though they both really are closer than actions would let on, they seem so much like water and lightsabers. …Plus, Siri can just be a bitch, and we have to accept that and move on. That, and she’s gotten used to Olin.” 

That got the smile he had hoped for. 

“And as for Bant. Bant’s Obi-Wan’s little sister, for all intents and purposes, really. And she’s a bit oversensitive to the fact that you’ve got more Force-potential than anyone that’s lived, and you’re a bit volatile. She’s kind of like the Council…and a lot of other people in that respect. They forget that one) you’re still just a kid – though you are growing up, kid,and two) you’re a kid that’s had a pretty rough life before you got uprooted from it and brought here. It’s not that no one understands, Anakin – and I know you feel that way, ‘cos I remember when you used to scream it in that little previously-not-as-well-shielded mind of yours. But it’s not _not_ understanding, it’s not knowing how to handle it. And neither of them really know Obi-Wan as well as I do, either. They haven’t really had to. 

“Now, secondly. Obi and I have always been really close, sometimes more so than at others” – he was fairly certain that Anakin caught the subtext of his statement, but wary of it as well – “but he doesn’t share everything with me. Obi-Wan doesn’t share everything with _anyone_ , Anakin. Rule Number One. He’s always spent so much time trying to appease everyone else that he pulled more and more into himself. It doesn’t make sense, said like that, but do you follow me?” 

“I guess.” 

“It’s what happens when you try to please everyone, or when you’re torn between what to do. You could go to someone else, but at that point, you’re usually not sure if anyone would understand. So you trust it to yourself; you keep it to yourself.” 

Anakin only nodded. “I wish Master Obi-Wan and I could talk like this,” he said quietly. 

Garen kept mum on that. He had heard of how talks with Obi-Wan went. _“He either thinks I’m prying or that I don’t care. That I’m either lecturing him or chastising him. There’s no middle ground. It’s this or that. Good or bad. So I keep it to teaching. To unimportant casual conversation. I can do that, Gar. I care about him – I do care about him so very much. But I don’t quite know how to reach him.”_ Garen didn’t know how to help either of them on that point. They both just needed to sit down and have a long discussion – just talking, or ranting, or crying –they just needed to actually really communicate with each other. But there wasn’t time for that. He could only hope that it might come round before everything blew up.

“Hey, Anakin, tell me this, though,” Garen said. “If you had a secret, or even just a really dark regret, and someone asked you about it, would you tell them?” 

_No. But that’s me. I’m not Obi-Wan._ Anakin frowned, and thought about it for a minute. Maybe Garen had a point. Anakin still felt entitled to know, though. No matter how bad or secretive Obi-Wan felt about it for some reason. What secret or regret could you have about someone? 

“I guess not.” Anakin sighed. “Thanks, Master Garen.” 

“If you say so. Now get outta here. I know you leave for a mission tomorrow, but I’m betting you and Veld have something to, I don’t know, wreak havoc on? Or, maybe even research to do on where in the galaxy you're going?” 

Anakin smiled. "Something like that." As he left to find Tru, Garen called out, “Don’t think about messing with the fighters, Skywalker.” 

\------------------------- 

_(The lyric in the page break is from “The Outsider” by A Perfect Circle.)_


	15. Part Two: Feels Like Déjà Vu

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**Chapter Fifteen: _Feels Like Déjà Vu_**

_**5 Years Earlier, Avindal** _

He stood upon a platform before his people. They were desperate; they were worn; they were ill; they were embittered. Blame was to be pointed, and it would be at him. Part of him supposed he deserved it. His people wanted a definite and swift reversal of their mired fortunes. Which, right now, he was not providing. His ideals of order and rebuilding and bringing in revenue – at the costs it had wrought, even those ideals now seemed unfavourable in the face of – though less…savoury – quick wealth brought in from illegal trade business. Quick wealth to procure medicines needed. A turnabout from the disaster bringing in the Last Star Mining Corporation to mine minerals for wealth had brought. They had been meant to mine a rare mineral that was only found on Avindal, a mineral from which the royal family drew its surname, something guaranteed to bring in much needed fortune. Instead, too little was reported found, and the water supply was poisoned.

Yes, allowing illegal trade and runners and other thugs into their planet would make a quick profit. Money to rebuild and to aid. There were rare and beautiful things to be had here, that the people had stood strong to protect for so long. But what the people missed was what they would lose. Initially, there would be gain, but the doors would thusly be a wide-open invitation to moral-lacking, unscrupulous scoundrels, and a dying planet would be extinguished that much faster. The people, much like their land – their world – had suffered, would fall.

Passionately, Owen Kenobi, the lost Ruler, tried to get his people to see reason. Yes, he’d made a grievous mistake in his desperation to help the planet he’d been reinstated to. But this was not the answer.

“What do you, Kenobi, know of the people’s plights?” A dark-haired man strode forth, waving strands of Telosian malab-black hair streaming from beneath the hood of his equally black cloak. Owen was uneasily reminded of the mysterious man whom had found him on Alderaan a little over four years ago and brought him back to his homeworld to try and make a change. How ironic to be turned against by someone who looked so like that man?

The man turned to face the people. “What can he, the boy-king – the heir to a family that _deserted_ their people – know of you? How can he speak for a world and people that he barely – no, _doesn’t_ know? _Hasn’t_ known? What’s to say that if the people follow him that he won’t turn tail when progress does not come? That he won’t vanish as Lyrea and Robben did at the first sensation that he knows his people realise that he’s not the great saviour they expected?”

Owen yelled out to the crowds, trying to tamp down his panic as he saw the people visibly taking this out-crier’s side. “I would have left already, do you not think, if his words were true!” he protested. “And it is true I am the heir of the vanished rulers, that I have not been here since I was a small child. But I _have_ been here for four years now, and I have _always_ been Avinic. My absence makes me no less passionate nor less attuned to your plight – to _our_ plight! As I say, I’ve made a mistake, and I plan to right that. But letting our world open to people who care nothing for it – that is not the answer.”

There was a quiet murmuring amongst the people gathered. Then:

“Give him his due!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“He’s a point,” sounded another. “He speaks true.”

Owen smiled at the support, though it faded as arguments broke out between conflicting views.

“Please, we must stand unified! We can only improve ourselves by working together!”

The dark man was vocal once more. “And how long will this take – this self-based restructure and prosperity? Too long, don’t you reckon? And Avindal needs aid now – the people, the children of Avindal need help now.”

Once again, the people were swayed. Desperation addles minds, Owen had once heard from his school friend Bail on Alderaan. And never before had he seen it so painfully illustrated.

“It’s _not_ –“

“Enough of your platitudes!” The man seized Owen by the arm. And the young ruler stood stock-still in shock. The eyes he stared into were dark, deep blue, callous and calculating. Brev Rennt, the man whom had brought him here.

It took a moment for the pain of the blaster bolt to hit him. Rennt pulled him close, looking intensely into his eyes. From far away it seemed, the people erupted into a cacophony of dischord.

“Why?” Owen asked in a whisper.

Brev Rennt – the anagram of Xanatos deCrion’s chosen Sith name, Verbrennt – eyed him hard and evenly. They were subtly different, in the emotions behind them, but the eyes were the same shifting colour as the ones that haunted him. Even though the face was different, the hair without any hint of red – the eyes were the same, the name and the blood close enough.

Owen was sinking to his knees.

“Ask your brother,” Xanatos sneered. Surprise and confusion flared in the aquatic eyes, as the lips formed the name “Ben?” silently. And Xanatos shot him once more, centre mass this time. Owen Kenobi’s lifeless body hit the platform with a dull thud, and Xanatos jumped off the back of it, getting onto the swoop bike he had placed in wait.

He didn’t feel satisfied. Faintly, he felt mildly disgusted. But mostly, he still felt as hollow as ever. But, as it had been time to leave Telos and its memories behind him, so it was time to leave Avindal behind him, too, its descent into destruction in his wake.

\-----------------------

****

**_Presently_**

 ****

It hadn’t been too terribly hard to touch down on Eirendel. They were travelling in a cargo freighter – when Port Command contacted, it was simply a matter of “bringing in a shipment for Callen Zaer.” Zaer was the head man as far as everyone was concerned. He led the opposition army against the royal family, and he supplied them well, weapons-wise, at least. And he lined the pockets of the traitorous in the authorities well. By saying they were running for Zaer, they were deemed safe, and cleared to land anywhere in the capital city, Dulin.

Anakin was fairly sure “anywhere” meant one of Dulin’s three ports. Not the quiet clearing a hike away from the palace where Obi-Wan had landed the freighter.

Kacia was being held in the palace. Zaer wanted to make an example of her, and the time between now and then was lessening. Kacia had managed to get out the directions to a servants’ passage into the palace that had fallen into disuse years before and was hopefully not under surveillance before the comm system had died completely.

Working on that information, Obi-Wan and Anakin headed out, Anakin marvelling at the sheer...greenery of the planet, hoping that the young Queen had been right. Fortunately, the information she’d given proved accurate and after ripping down the mass of vines that had grown over the heavy wooden doors, the two Jedi traipsed down a handcrafted corridor. Its status as being in disuse was also true; a few times, the had to clear their way, for at some points, the dirt walls had semi-tumbled in, or a crossbeam had fallen.

Obi-Wan quietly quizzed Anakin over the details of the mission as they walked.

“What’s caused the unrest on Eirendel, Padawan?”

Anakin grimaced, glad his Master wasn’t looking back at him. He racked his mind for the data he’d only skimmed over on their journey here.

“Um… It – it didn’t really start here,” he stated, thinking hard. “It started on the other planet – the lost one…. Avindal. Bad water and angry people and bad business and bad people…and it kind of just bled over.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin hung his head. He knew what that sigh meant. It meant that Anakin more or less had the base essentials of the issue down, but he had disgracefully, ineloquently put them forth.

“The key to diplomacy – and successful negotiation – young Padawan, is understanding the issues facing those you are aiding – and those who oppose them.”

 _We’ve had this discussion before, Master,_ Anakin mentally groaned, but kept his thought shielded.

“A true peacekeeper _must_ do this, Anakin, for the people are fighting because they _don’t_ understand each other anymore. It is crucial that you _know_ these people…for they no longer know each other. Or, even, themselves.”

Anakin barely managed to suppress his own sigh. The one that said, “we’ve been over this a million times, Master; I know”. And he did, after a fashion. He understood what Obi-Wan meant, it’s just he found it hard not to just acknowledge what he saw as the main points: there were those who were right, and those who were wrong. The ones who were right deserved to win; the ones who were wrong deserved to be shown their place. And there were always innocents caught in the middle that shouldn’t have had to deal with any of it.

Anakin couldn’t argue both sides, couldn’t appeal to _both_ sides. It offended something within him.

“You have to argue both sides, Padawan. You have to remember: the opposition – the ‘wrong ones’, as you say – believe they are right. You have to show the ‘right’ side where the opposition is coming from, but you must conversely show the opposition where they’ve gone wrong. We are peacekeepers, firstly, Anakin. If there is a way to argue peacefully and come to an accord…we _should_ pursue it.”

“And sometimes the bad guys should just be blasted.” Anakin had whispered it under his breath before. He only sighed this time. There were some things Obi-Wan never seemed to comprehend. Obi-Wan was a born negotiator, a wordsmith. He’d toned down a good deal since Anakin’s first year in the Temple. He still had an edge – something base and jagged – within him, but he kept it tightly reigned in. He was good at being the model Jedi. And it could be infuriatingly frustrating, because Anakin couldn’t wrap his head around it sometimes.

Anakin was a fighter. Always had been. He wanted to help those that deserved help however he could. By force and one-upping those who oppressed them was usually the most effective way, he’d found, if not the most diplomatic.

With Anakin’s grudging silence like a heavy weight, Obi-Wan only sighed and fell silent. There were some things Anakin would never understand, for he was too set to try.

The servants’ corridor would take them into the back of the western wing of the palace. Obi-Wan shifted his focus from lamenting on his padawan’s woeful negotiation skills and obstinacy to hoping that the exit for this corridor was not blocked off, just forgotten as the passageway it let out from had been.

A set of rickety but nonetheless apparently sturdy wooden stairs let them up to a trapdoor, which was thankfully unblocked and opened up into a large supply closet.

“I suspect you didn’t absorb the finer details of what’s going on inside the palace in your scan/pick-and-choose review of the dossier, did you?” Obi-Wan asked as Anakin climbed out of the door.

Anakin frowned, though it very nearly bordered on a scowl. If Obi-Wan was going to needle him for not paying enough attention, Anakin could certainly needle _him_ about a few things. “No, Master. I did not.”

“Zaer has Kacia and all who’ve been captured in opposing him on a sort of lockdown here. Once a month, an example is made out of one of the captives. Kacia is forced to witness, powerless to do anything but futilely plead. It’s feared that soon, an example will be made of Kacia herself.

“Now, even though he has the palace locked down, inside is rather open.” Obi-Wan indicated the civilian garb he and Anakin both wore. “Like this, we’ll blend in just in case Zaer does have any internal people, but Kacia’s transmission said that save for exhibition days and on patrol outside, Zaer’s presence is more omniscient than physically present within the palace walls. It’s a tactic a power-hungry warmonger like him would enjoy.”

“Yes, Master.”

They headed out into the palace. Obi-Wan had informed Anakin of Qui-Gon’s rule to situations where camouflage was a talent more than an availability long ago: If you acted and looked as if you belonged somewhere, there was less of a chance of being noticed or questioned.

It was surprisingly quiet in the hall. An old woman passed by, eyes sorrowful and head down.

“Ma’am?” Obi-Wan touched her shoulder lightly. The woman’s eyes took in the Knight and his apprentice, seeing nothing more but fellows in the same situation as she and several others.

“New ones Zaer’s added to ‘is collection, eh?” she inquired. She looked sadly at Anakin, a weathered hand touching his cheek as a rueful smile played across her face. “So young. Too young to deal with this. That Zaer’s a bastard of the deepest ranks of hell.” She looked back to Obi-Wan, about to ask a question – but froze, staring at Obi-Wan’s face.

“Do you know where Queen Kacia is?” he asked her, brow furrowing slightly at her reaction to him.

“Are you alright?” asked Anakin when the old woman didn’t answer for an extended time. She seemed bewildered and mesmerised at the same time.

“It’s just…”

Anakin saw the movement of his Master’s hand.

“Nevermind.” She shook her head. “Ye were askin’?”

“Kacia,” Obi-Wan repeated.

“Ah. The young Queen’s in the main hall, son. Poor child – she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, but she tries. May the little gods bless her soul, she tries.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t hard to find the grand hall. Heavy doors, two stories high, of black metal were partially open. The young Queen sat in one of the ornate throne chairs at the opposite end of the hall. She stroked the dark hair of a small child who slept in the seat of the other throne, a little boy, who couldn’t have been much more than four. At the sound of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s entrance, Kacia’s head snapped up, orangey curls swinging back to reveal a cherubic, freckled face.

It was Anakin’s turn to pause.

Obi-Wan nudged him and continued forth. Anakin looked slightly taken aback, but Obi-Wan was focused on the matter at hand.

“Milady Kacia,” he greeted with a bow, eyeing sideways to make sure his apprentice did the same. Whatever had distracted the boy a moment before seemed to have been put aside as it should be.

“You’re not from here….” Kacia spoke in a low voice, getting to her feet. She was a small woman, though her bright spirit eclipsed her stature. Anakin felt a touch through the Force, like a question, and realised with a start that the Queen was Force-sensitive. Not enough to be brought to the Temple to train, but enough that she could read people.

Obi-Wan replied with only a slight shake of his head. A relieved smile broke out across Kacia’s face, the inquiring sense dissipated. She gathered the sleeping child and beckoned them to follow.

Pulling a decoration on a column revealed a side passageway that she took them down and into a sitting room. “Please, do sit. Let me put Roloven to bed – he hasn’t slept in a proper bed in a week, poor lad, sitting up all hours with me.” Kacia palmed open another hidden door and headed out.

“What was that in the hall, Padawan?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin stared at Obi-Wan’s hand for a moment, not wanting to look his Master in the face. Obi-Wan’s pale hand contrasted starkly with the dark varnish of the table, though the neat nails fit in with the polish and quality of the wood. Obi-Wan was always so painfully well kempt. Anakin dragged his eyes up to Obi-Wan’s. The beard that hid him and his long hair were at odds with his fastidiousness. But Anakin still thought as he always had.

“Master?”

Obi-Wan levelled him with a look – it wasn’t quite admonishing, a tinge amused, even. “It’s quite impolite to stare, Anakin.”

Immediately, Anakin felt on the defensive. “But Master – her eyes!”

“Are blue, Anakin.”

“ _No_ , Master. They’re not just blue.” Anakin spoke firmly. “They’re exactly like yours.” Anakin stared back at him, hard. _No one_ in the galaxy had the same eyes as Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin knew this one as well: the “you’re being childish, Anakin” sigh.

Anakin was about to say something when Kacia reappeared.

“Sorry for that.” She took up a seat at the opposite end of the table. “It’s safe to talk. Zaer may not be present here, but just in case, I know he doesn’t know of this room.” She smiled happily once more. “So…I was beginning to think that the Senate had not received my plea. You are here to help me, yeah?”

“Yes, milady,” Obi-Wan assured her. “Your plea was indeed received. We’ve come to escort you to the capital to appeal for senate aid.”

Kacia hung her head. “I wish Callen would listen, but I know it’s too futile. He’s an offworlder, and cares nothing save what wealth he can garner. And with the people so upset by my father’s…insufficiency when Avindal’s crisis hit us… Zaer has the backing of my own people.” She sighed heavily. “He’s poisoned us against one another.”

Before she could continue, a small cry came from behind the door.

“Mama!” There was a soft thump as a little fist banged once against the door. “Mama? Mama mama mama mama…”

Kacia excused herself and opened the door. “Come on, then, Rol.” Kacia picked the dark-headed boy up. Anakin was staring again as she sat down, the boy’s head on her shoulder and his thumb in his mouth.

“Is he your son?” Anakin asked. She looked hardly old enough to have a kid that age.

Kacia brushed back the brown hair from the already slumbering child’s face. “Aye, he is. He’s…a joy.” She bit her lip, searching for words. “I knew he’d be raised right – I was a royal daughter. But then Da was killed…and nothing’s been right.”

Anakin could tell when he wasn’t being told everything. Especially given recent events; he’d had practise. He shared a look with Obi-Wan, knowing his Master had the same feeling. Kacia was kind, though. And there was a reason she was hiding what she was. Obi-Wan had always tried to impress tact upon him, so for once he applied it. Obi-Wan wasn’t pressing her for more information now, either.

“Who was Queen before you?” Anakin asked. He remembered something about the royal line being hereditary.

“My ma, Belena. She died of illness when I was small. It’s a wonder the Albire royalty is matrilineal – illness and general fragility is prone in the royal blood, but far more so in the women.” She looked back up at them with her changeable eyes. They were currently an overcast blue-green. Anakin shivered. There was something he wasn’t catching. He just…felt it.

“But look at me,” Kacia said, dismissing the heaviness her previous statement seemed to have cast, eyes now vibrantly greenish, “I’ve descended into boring history and I’ve not yet learnt who you both are, save the answer to my hopes!”

Anakin smiled. In a way, Kacia reminded him of Padmé – they actually were about the same age, he thought. But while Padmé was all steadfastness, Kacia seemed a bit more vulnerable. Perhaps it was her bubbly personality.

“I am Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is my apprentice, Anakin Skywalker.”

“Kenobi?” Kacia’s brow furrowed then she shook her head, an inwardly amused smile playing across her face. “Real Jedi, then? So I trust I’m in the best of hands.”

“Some of the best the Order has,” Anakin said brightly. He’d learnt over the handful of years he’d been a Jedi to stop at that. Obi-Wan evidently hated when he brought up his Master was a Sith killer and they were both known as the Heroes of Naboo.

Kacia smiled at him. “Rol and I are in the best of care, I’m certain.” She was very sisterly, he decided, and he thought she was a good person. This Zaer guy needed to be taken down. Anakin only wished that was part of their mission – he knew they could do it.

Suddenly Kacia yawned. “Will we be leaving in the morn, then, Master Jedi?” she asked, looking to Obi-Wan. She seemed as quietly curious about him as Anakin had initially been about her.

Obi-Wan inclined his head after a moment. “Better that we have our wits about us. It’s a fair hike to our transport.”

“I’ll see you in the morn.” She touched Obi-Wan’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you both. I just want things better here. Better for Eirendel and her people. Perhaps Albire as a whole.”

“We’ll get you back to the capital as quickly as possible, milady.” Obi-Wan didn’t add that it was up to the Senate once she got there whether they would hear and answer her plea or not. Anakin tamped down his frustration and stayed in the moment. He caught the saddened look that had flitted across his master’s face at redemption of the Albire system. No one else would have, but Anakin knew him well enough – had learnt that subtle emotions were what he usually had to go on from Obi-Wan.

“Here, let me show you an extra room back here.” Kacia led them down the concealed hallway and into a room off the left. As the young queen left with her son and the door closed behind them, Obi-Wan told his apprentice to get some sleep. Sulkily, Anakin did as he was bid, taking the right side of the single large bed. He'd get information in the morning.

Wonderings about the queen and this system and Obi-Wan found him before sleep did, forming into the questions to ask when sun came, and when he finally gave into rest, he realised his master still was awake.

\------------------------

_(The lyric in the page break is from “Roses for the Dead” by Funeral for a Friend.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Original Header:
> 
>  **Title:** Nova  
>  **Author:** Curt Kenobi  
>  **Summary:** Anakin has always admired Obi-Wan. And as the years progress, he'll come to find that out, and that he has always loved him, as well. Despite the secrets Obi-Wan hides. (yeah, bad summary but the plot's still in-progress...)  
>  **Pairing:** A/O and O/X  
>  **Rating:** M/R to be safe overall. PG (I hate G ratings) for this chap.  
>  **Genre:** Angst, Romance, Action/Adventure  
>  **Disclaimer:** Yeah, if _Star Wars_ was mine, I could rule the world like GL. But, alas, I don't own it, so don't sue. Just call me Christian from _Moulin Rouge_. I'm naught but a penniless writer.  
>  **A/N:** This is AU...'cos I have a soft spot for a certain Dark Jedi who didn't die. And I think he has a soft spot for everyone's Jedi-in-Shining-Armour, aka Obi, even if the main focus is O/A. Oh yeah, it's slash, if you didn't catch that... I'm still not sure about the title... And yeah, I thought I'd bring my lyric-breaks to my SW fandom, too.
> 
> Thanks to Davis for reading over this for me and giving me the extra green light. [6.09.06]


End file.
